


Hubris

by SeekingValhalla



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Adventure, Angst, Asgard, Blood and Gore, Character Development, Disguise, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Plot, Reader Is Badass, Revenge, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence, War, im really warning you this is a slow burn, loki is kind of a dick, reader is female, reader is super stubborn, slight Mulan AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 60
Words: 165,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekingValhalla/pseuds/SeekingValhalla
Summary: Asgardian men and women normally fought battles side by side, so when the Allfather strips away your opportunity to seek your revenge, you disguise yourself as a man. Your pride prevents you from quitting, but how long can you keep your walls built up before someone sees through the cracks?(Rated E for language, violence, death, and other mature themes)





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is very mildly inspired by Mulan. End goal is very obviously Loki/Reader, but in the mean time there's a lot of angst ahead. 
> 
> I refrain from using [y/n] or anything like that simply because I find it too abrupt. Reader is referred to as her alias, and I try and stay away from describing her so that you all can picture her in any way you please.

Asgardian women were just as feared as Asgardian men. While holding less power in politics, the women were just as fierce of warriors and just as sharp of minds. On the battlefield, the two were regarded as one. Barbarians did not disregard a woman or grant her any relief from the pain they wished to dole out to a man. No woman or man is spared from the tortures the enemy inflicts. 

And so, when the Allfather demands this next battle be fought by only the strongest of _men_ , the order ignites an onslaught of bitter feelings from your chest. There was reason for his decision, you knew. The battle was to be the toughest Asgard has fought in centuries, and the Allfather wanted as few of casualties as possible. But this was to be your battle. This was to be the battle in which the years of tears and of bruises and of training yourself to near death was supposed to pay off. This was supposed to be the battle in which you'd rip the heart of the beast you hated most from his chest and relish in the feeling of spitting on his bloodied flesh. This was supposed to be the battle in which you captured revenge for your brother when he was slain the night before his birthday.

Your heart aches. Aches for the fear that you will no longer be able to uphold the promise you made twelve years ago on the night of your beloved brother's death. The very night that played in your dreams and haunted even your daily thoughts. There was no respite from the memory of seeing your brother's head drop to the cold ground, the bloodthirsty grin on the face of his murderer, the eyes that locked onto yours and threatened your very life. The Barbarian prince that rode into the night had ripped your most beloved friend from your tiny hands and forbade him from the birthday in which he would have started training to fight for the vanguard. 

_"Because your scream was so lovely, I'll let you cradle his head in your hands with your's still intact."_

You vowed that night to never be as merciful as the Barbarian prince who spared your life in favor of you suffering through it. You would not spare his, and you were willing to commit treason to be able to punish him for stealing away your brother's life. And so you had trained, every morning, afternoon, and night. You turned away from your parents, distraught and angered by their inability to understand the bloodlust that had sunk its way into your heart. 

They thought that the bloodlust had turned you into something akin to a monster, but you knew that monsters slew children, and you only sought to slay a cowardly man. 

"No, no. I will not let that bastard die by unworthy hands." The determination that filled your voice was familiar to your own ears. You had heard it all too often throughout your childhood as you trained. It was the voice that your parents had grown to hate and it was the voice that distanced you from old friends.

Now you thought of it as the voice that would be able to sneak into battle disguised as a man. 

You were not a woman who was remarkably feminine. As years have gone your training had hardened you. Your hair could be put up in a similar fashion as the God of Thunder, your chest could be binded. You could hold your all in a battle against even the toughest of men. 

The only issue was your voice, but as you wrapped the bandages around your chest and donned your father's old armor, you practiced lowering it. It wasn't believable. But passable, perhaps. If anything you were willing to take the risk. You had to take the risk. The only other option would be to tarnish your brother’s honor, and that was the very opposite of what you so desired to do. 

Your hand clasped the mace you had learned to rely on all of these years. It's worn leather comfortable in your hands, your fingers sliding into the imprints you had left over the years. The leather first had grown used to small hands. Small, frightened hands that were unfamiliar with holding a weapon. You had looked foolish, a young girl holding a mace that was far too large for her, but now the weapon fit in your hands as if it had been forged just for you. Now you held the weapon with unmatched confidence, and your stride dared those around you to even try and approach. 

The glare in your eyes dismissed those around you who wished to ask who you were. And those who were unafraid of your steely gaze were granted the alias you would now go by: Ove.

You had had no issue with getting in. They needed the men, and you proved your worth in sparring. For every man that stepped in your way, the butt of your mace would knock them in the shoulder, the knees, the chest. You’d leave your opponents breathless and dazed, and even the captains acknowledged your power with dignified nods of their head. 

“How is it that none of us had ever seen you before this battle, Ove?” Bjarke handed you water, watching as you downed it as though you had been starved of the liquid for years. “It's incredible! You even knocked down Asger. I have never once seen a man so…” He glanced over your form as he searched for the appropriate word. “Tiny, be able to fight a man as large as Asger.” 

Bjarke’s comment on you being tiny had you stand a little taller than you were when he first came over. It was true, compared to the men you were small. Surely a head or two shorter than all of them, and nearly nowhere close as broad. 

“I was always training. Saving my strength for a battle such as this.” The lie slipped easily from your mouth. If there was anything you had learned better than how to fight, it was how to lie. “I lost someone to that bastard Barbarian prince, and this battle will give the perfect opportunity to strip him of his flesh.”

Bjarke shifted on his feet, his blue eyes showing his shock at the malice he heard in your voice. Your voice had been a hiss, revealing your hatred towards the Barbarians while also stripping Bjarke of any further questions about your past. He didn't want to ask anymore, made hesitant by the crease forming between your brows. “That is a worthy cause. I am sorry for your loss, but you look like the type of man who will surely succeed in your revenge.”

Bjarke’s words brought a genuine smile to your face, and the blonde man thought your smile to be much more comforting than your snarl. 

“Thank you, Bjarke. I look forward to fighting alongside you.” 

The man grinned at that, giving a rough pat to your back. “Remember we leave tonight, Ove. Get acquainted with that beast of a horse you were assigned to,” he joked, pointing over to the large black beast that whipped its head away from the warrior that was trying to lead it away from the stables. 

You waved a hand in dismissal at Bjarke, moving to go meet the beast that you were to ride. When you approached, you saw a few men leaning against the stables try and hide their smirks. The bastards thought it would be real funny to assign you the biggest horse they had that wasn't meant for Prince Loki or Prince Thor. The brown horse in front of you glared down with green eyes, but the glare did nothing to unsettle you.

If those men wanted to see you struggle with a horse far too large for yourself, they would also see you succeed. “Pass me a saddle,” you demanded, staring up at the horse that the other men called Halvor. It snorted, challenging you to dare to try. You reached your hand out towards its muzzle as another man went to grab a saddle, and its teeth snapped down on your hand. You choked down your sound of pain, grimacing at the beast.

“Listen, you asshole. Let go of my fucking hand. The sooner you do so the sooner we can get back at the men who are afraid to even approach you,” you spoke, lifting your other hand to rest it upon the horse’s snout. 

You ran soothing circles over its snout, and it eventually loosened its grip. You were quick to pull your hand away, glancing down to assess the damage done. The horse hadn't broken anything. The bastard just bit down enough to make it hurt, but now that it saw you were still refusing to back down, the horse had no intention of biting you again. You were focused on the horse’s eyes, ignoring the cackling from the other men as they joked about how you were too tiny to even reach the horse’s back with your arm. 

When the man came back with a saddle, you took it from him, sure that the horse in front of you would no longer wish to inflict harm on you. And if it did, you would deal. 

“You really think a boy as small as you is gonna be able to climb onto a horse that big?” You looked over at the man taunting you, recognizing him to be Fiske, a man who had his dignity stripped from him when you had your foot to his chest and your mace pointed at his face.

“Fiske, it would be wise to not taunt the man who caused you to slip and fall on your ass,” you retorted, turning away after you saw the bruised ego that crossed his face. The men around him laughed like boars, and the horse in front of you stomped its hooves on the ground in approval. 

With the saddle finally securely on the horse, you paused. Fiske was right about it though. You were much too small to be able to lift yourself onto a horse so tall. “Oh Stars, what have I gotten myself into,” you whispered, grabbing onto the reigns of the horse. 

Halvor looked down at you, and you tugged the reins in the direction of the ground, willing him to help you out a little and lean his neck down for you. With a little look of desperation and extra work, Halvor finally granted the favor and leaned down. You grinned, proud of the small accomplishment and the budding trust that was forming between horse and woman. You grasped the mane of Halvor and swung your legs over his neck, grinning as he lifted himself back up and helped you slide down into position. 

You knocked softly on Halvor's side, silently thanking him for further ruining the pride of Fiske and his friends. "I'm sorry, Fiske, what was it you said about me being unable to mount this horse?" You asked, eyes flicking over to the boarish man as he scoffed and began moving away from you and Halvor. 

"Thank you, Halvor," you said, hoping that the horse would be willing to become your greatest companion. You needed to distance yourself from the other men, and so a companion in any other form was welcome. Halvor, despite your hand still stinging with pain, seemed to be a horse that would lead you to victory. 

You rode the horse away from the stable, but quickly pulled on the reins and stopped in your tracks. Your breath hitched, caught in your threat as you saw Prince Loki. If there was anyone that would be able to see through your ruse, it was him. The Trickster Prince was an excellent liar, and you didn't want to slip up around him.

It would mean your head if you did. And worse, it would mean you would die before being able to bash your mace against the Barbarian prince's skull and repay him for murdering your brother. 

Unbeknownst to you, as you bowed your head to show respect to the passing prince, Loki Laufeyson had marked you as the first to die in battle. Though it didn't show on his forever scornful face, he was amused by the laughable size of you. Even more so amused by the size of your horse. Yes, he thought for sure that you would be one of the first warriors to die.

Thor pulled his horse up next to his brother’s, glancing over at you briefly. “Brother, that man there is one of our most promising warriors,” Thor spoke, and his loudness made you lift your head and turn to look at him, surprised by the compliment. 

But your soft smile was quickly discarded as you heard the Prince of Mischief chuckle. 

“Him? He hardly looks like he can fit on his horse. If he is our most promising warrior consider the battle over. We’ll all be dead before the first battle can even begin,” Loki scoffed, irritated by the praise his brother was giving you. He saw nothing in your small frame besides weakness. 

You scowled, kicking Halvor in the side to urge him in the direction of Bjarke. You had no more reason to listen to Loki, but now had motivation to prove to the bastard Prince that you were anything but weak.

“He beat Volstagg in a spar, Brother. His size is merely to fool you.”

Loki waved his hand, silencing Thor. He tired already of the brief conversation, irritated that his brute of a brother would even dare to say that someone like you was capable of fooling him, a master of mischief. The scowl was back on his face. He was no longer amused by your appearance, nor by the thought of you being able to beat the strongest of their warriors in a spar. 

“I encourage you, Brother, that if you have more to say about that boy that you do so mockingly.”

But Loki watched as you rode away, able to see your irritation in the way you rode with stiff shoulders. He was curious, he had to admit. He wanted to see how long you would really last before you were killed.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who left kudos!

“Whoever decided that the Prince of Mischief should be on this trip is ridiculous,” you muttered, waving your hands as Bjarke tried to remind you that it was the Allfather who decided it be best for both Thor and Loki to fight. “He’s insufferable. Prince Thor was all praise for me and my fighting skills but that snake just said I was weak looking. He called me a _boy_! I am not a boy, I’m a—” You took a deep breath. “I'm a man!”

Your swearing made it seem like you were infuriated by Loki calling you a boy, but in reality you were swearing because you almost called yourself a woman rather than a man. You almost slipped up. You cursed again, kicking a pebble out of your way.

Bjarke watched you carefully, the lights of his blue eyes brightening with each complaint you made. He found you fascinating, laughing as you kicked pebbles. “Ove, quiet down before the devil himself actually hears you,” he warned. 

But you threw your hands up in exasperation. “Well let him, Bjarke. Let The bastard himself hear how much he infuriates me!” Bjarke threw his hand over your mouth, dragging you back to a sitting position as Loki himself neared the flames of the fire. 

“You’re too hot headed for your own good, Ove. If the Prince hears you speaking like that who knows what he’ll do. I heard he guts people for merely forgetting to bow.” Bjarke’s voice was no louder than a whisper, and yet you swore that you saw Loki raise his head to look your way. 

“I hear he tried to kill his past lover because she forgot one time to call him a prince,” Asger butted in, taking a seat beside the two of you. 

“You’re all a bunch of asses. I doubt the man did any of that.” You moved Bjarke’s hand from over your mouth, spitting at the ground next to you with a look of disgust on your face. 

Between the three of you, you surely looked like a couple of mismatched warriors. Asger and Bjarke sat on either side of you, shadowing you in their height and their width. Bjarke was leaner, but taller than Asger. He was more agile, faster on his feet and less inclined to run at an enemy barehanded. Asger was the larger of the two. For every physical disadvantage that Bjarke would have when fighting weaponless, Asger had the advantage. His shoulders were broad, the muscles on his arms were larger than your head, and the force of his impact was enough to sweep anyone smaller off of their feet and into the mud. 

And then there was you. Certainly not taller or broader than either of them, but you had the scowls that they lacked. For their kindness and their good naturedness, you had the bitterness and the bloodthirstiness. You made up for your stature with words and with wit, and with your footwork. You could outrun the men here, you could throw yourself away from them, under them, over them. Any vantage point would do in order to allow you to swing your mace into them. 

“I bet he did it,” Bjarke whispered again, after the three had pondered on the idea of Loki being as much of a monster as everyone says.

“Yeah? Well I think he's all bark and no bite. Halvor could do more harm than the Prince of Mischief ever could,” you remarked, a grin on your face as you knocked the two men next to you in the ribs with your elbows. Squeezing yourself out of the middle of the two warriors, you brought yourself to stand. “I refuse to be intimidated by a man who prides himself on lying.”

At that, your two comrades laughed heartily at your expense. Neither of the two could understand where your courage came from, or why you were so determined to never show a weakness. They had both silently decided that it was due to your size that you tried to overcompensate. Neither of them could imagine being such a small man, but neither of them could also imagine being a woman dressed as one. 

Their laughter earned a roll of your eyes. You were being completely serious. You weren't intimidated by the lesser liked Prince, nor did you believe him to be as dangerous as everyone says. You were about to open your mouth with another witty remark when you heard Thor’s voice.

“Barbarians have been spotted towards the west! Gather your belongings and mount your horses! We will attack before they can do so themselves!”

The God of Thunder’s voice roared in your ears, and your breath quickened in excitement. This is what you had been waiting for. This was your opportunity. To fight. To punish those around you that stole your brother’s life. Asger and Bjarke stood, glancing at you wearily as they watched your smile turn to anger and the crease between your brows become prominent once more. This was not the you they were accustomed with. They had seen your ferocity when sparring you. They had both been knocked down with the butt of your mace or knocked in the jaw with your shield. But this was something that they had not yet seen. This was bloodlust. You rushed to grab your mace and shield, Halvor helping you up onto his back. Asger and Bjarke couldn't help but stare, unfamiliar with the warrior that had taken over as you cried for Halvor to move.

You didn't exchange any more glances with your comrades, just pushed your horse to catch up with the Asgardian princes. Blood pumped in your ears as you rode, distant shouts from the Barbarians being heard. Hooves running to meet you with men and spears, swords, flails. 

Anyone watching you could see how at home you felt on the battlefield, and yet how stiff your facial expressions stayed unless you swung your mace at a barbarian. Halvor didn't ease up his pace once the thick of battle came to. The Princes stayed ahead, Thor swinging Mjolnir and Loki seemingly staying out of battle, wasting only a little of his energy. But anyone who looked at you could see how you were wasting all. You were bad at preserving your energy, but yet liked to think that you had a boundless supply. 

You kicked Halvor in the side, swinging him in the direction of the nearest barbarians. You were right about this horse. He was large, able to trample over enemies with little effort. He was also smart, and you trusted him to help you win in this battle. You shifted in your seat, leaning backwards over the saddle and using your legs to stay gripped around Halvor’s back. You grabbed his reins and wrapped them around a barbarian warrior’s neck, Halvor bucking up in surprise by the added weight. 

What would otherwise be a disadvantage was a pleasant new way of moving for you. You flipped your legs up and off of Halvor’s back, replacing the reins with your arms as you flew just over the barbarian’s head. Your feet hit the ground and with a ferocious cry, the barbarian was dragged face first to the mud. Halvor took care of the rest, trampling the man as you whipped to the side and blocked an incoming arrow with your shield. 

You swung your mace with confidence, blood from your enemies getting into your eyes with every new hit. The battle went on like this for what seemed like eternity. You leapt in front of comrades to save them from hits that would have otherwise been deadly, all while Halvor, the trusty steed he is, stayed close by your side and kicked enemies away. But as you fought, your breathing became labored. You alone had taken down a vast majority of the barbarians, and your muscles and bones were aching because of it. 

The blood in your eyes became irritating, the sweat dripping from you slowed you down. But you would not stop. You had not yet seen the monster you were in search of, and you would not stop until you laid your look of death upon him and announced his doom. 

But as you lifted your mace to swing around again, you screamed in pain as your shoulder dislocated. Your mace struck your target, but pain and exhaustion set in to prevent you from being able to lift your mace from his skull. You screamed a curse, angry at yourself for falling weak in the middle of battle before you could even see the Barbarian prince you sought. In the midst of your frustration you lost track of the enemies, and the pounding in your ears didn't hear the call to retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter! I have 8 already written, but from now on I plan to update this every two-three days, that way I can continue to write new chapters while still being my procrastinating self. 
> 
> Feedback is strongly welcomed! There isn't a lot of Loki in this fic just yet, but I promise there will be (though maybe it involves a bit of pain rather than happiness).


	3. III

Your comrades had heard the call to retreat, and when they heard your frustrated screams they rode over to you without a second’s thought. They found you helplessly pulling at your mace, your shoulder looking worse for wear. The three didn't even need to glance at each other before they each stepped in to pull you from your disastrous self.

“Let's go, Ove. This battle is over,” Asger announced, removing your hands from the mace once he stepped off from his horse. You cursed at him to let go, but Halvor turned your curses in another direction as he bit onto your bun and tugged at your hair. 

Bjarke stepped in and urged you onto your horse once the brown beast finally let go of your hair. You sat on the saddle reluctantly, the front of your hair matted by blood and your facial features hardly recognizable. Your comrades rode next to you, making sure that the exhaustion that was clearly written on your face wouldn't cause you to fall from Halvor. You rode for hours, exhaustion pulling at your core. You had popped your shoulder back in place but it stung, and you knew that swinging your mace would be different from now on. Every shift of your arm was a reminder that you were still weak. Still too weak to avenge your brother in the proper way, and that realization tore at your body.

“Foolish, foolish, foolish,” you chanted, lost in your thoughts as you tore a hole in your bottom lip. Asger and Bjarke didn't dare try and converse with you, for they saw how your eyes glazed over and your head shook constantly. They wondered if you were so caught up in your thoughts to not notice how the Asgardian army had withered away, or to look at the faces of the many you had stepped into save.

You were caught within your own mind, but the warriors around you took notice of how many losses you prevented. They, with the absence of Bjarke and Asger, had pinned you as one to fight for only yourself. They thought that surely you were a selfish man, and yet their opinions were vastly different now that many of them were in your debt. To you, there was only one discrimination to be had on the battlefield, and that was between enemy and comrade. No matter what any men had said about your stature or abilities, you would not let them die. 

And so because so many were wanting to thank you for their lives, they were unable to understand just why you couldn’t recognize your accomplishments. They didn't realize how you couldn't appreciate it because you were more selfish than they now thought. You didn't want to be in battle for the sake of taking out your anger on weak barbarians. You wanted to be in battle to take down the _Prince_ of the Barbarians. There was no glory for you until you held his head in your hands. 

Bjarke nudged Asger in the side once they reached the next campsite. “He hasn't said a word to anyone but himself in the last four hours,” he said quietly, looking over at you with worried eyes. If this was how you acted after a mere part of the full war, he was afraid you would drive yourself mad before being able to reach your goal. Your silence was eerie, and Asger and Bjarke began to miss your loud mouth and bitter comments about the pale prince. 

As Asger slid off his horse, he responded, equally worried: “All he's been saying is how he fucked up, but besides not being able to grab his mace, Ove did better in that battle than many of us. The blood on his face proves it.”

“I think he's caught in his head about whoever it is he lost to those bastards.”

Fiske laughed loudly, amusing himself already before his words could even leave his mouth. “I bet he lost the only lover who’d ever love a scrawny boy like him.” 

“Oi, shut the hell up, Fiske. Didn't Ove save you from a sword to the shoulder? Show him some respect for once,” Asger barked. 

Fiske, the damn asshole, just laughed some more. “What are you, his bodyguards? He clearly can't take care of himself.”

“He doesn't need a bodyguard. But perhaps you will if you keep shitting on him. He’ll come after you before we even get the chance,” Asger chimed in with a shake of his head. They both looked to you, but were surprised to see that you didn't even bat an eye in their direction.

You hadn't heard Fiske’s insult. Instead you had sat yourself down on a rock and taken to staring into the distance, a blank look on your face. Bjarke didn't know which to label as worse; your silence now or your hatred towards yourself earlier. He thought for sure that he would have had to pull you away from launching yourself at Fiske. 

“Ove,” Bjarke called for you, moving to stand in front of you. “Stop thinking you did something wrong and look around at the people who want to thank you for saving their lives. You halted an arrow right before it struck me in the hip.” He paused, waiting for you to finally look up at him. “Thank you.”

You stared, mouth hung open in surprise at Bjarke’s words. “But I didn't do anything of worth,” you protested, hands gripping the edge of your shirt. “I couldn't even get my damn mace out of that barbarian’s body. I'm weak, Bjarke. I shouldn't be here. I'm too weak to even pick up my own mace again without my damn shoulder popping out of place.” 

You rubbed blood out of your eyes, certain that you were a sore sight to look at. Bjarke and Asger thought it was depressing to look at you while you were in such a state. Both had younger siblings back at home that they were fighting to protect, and they both saw you as someone akin to them. You didn't need protection from other people, they both knew that, but you certainly needed protection from yourself.

Before Bjarke could open his mouth to argue against you, the Prince of Mischief walked past, sparing a glance in your direction. Loki clicked his tongue in distaste, though the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk. 

“Are you done with your tantrum, _boy_?” Loki looked at you expectantly, having heard your complaints earlier about being called a boy instead of a man. 

He was pleased when you turned to look at him, a deadly glare on your face. You were quite entertaining. He saw you as hotheaded, small, weak. Easily crushed by enemies if you were left to your own thoughts for long enough. His green eyes followed your movements as you stood from your seat, and he half expected you to keep up appearances and bow before him like your comrades had done. 

You did not.

“You should run home to your mother if you find yourself too weak to fight. Although I must admit, seeing you have a fit is quite amusing.”

You bristled, face twisting into a scowl as you raised a finger to point at him. “How can a lying, _cowardly_ prince think to insult anyone else here?” 

Bjarke and Asger went pale next to you, slowly backing up until they were safely behind you. They avoided looking at the Prince, but they knew now that stepping in to get you to quiet down would only end up making things worse for themselves. 

Loki’s smirk dropped from his face at the disrespectful words that left your mouth. He took a step towards you, his form towering over yours. His green eyes glared down at you, and you made his fingers twitch in irritation when you didn't take a step back. Instead, you took a step forward, glaring right back at him to challenge him. He opened his mouth, but your anger cut him off.

“Don't ask me to repeat myself, _Snake_. You didn't even lift a finger during that battle, just stood back and watched as warriors died beside you. “You have no right to criticize me while you stand on a body count of thousands all because you wouldn't dare get blood on your pretty armor,” you snarled, blind to the eyes of many soldiers who watched the argument unfold.

“You dare speak to me in such a way? I'll have you dead for your foolish disrespect. Our army would benefit from no longer having to babysit you,” Loki hissed, shoving you onto the floor. His foot pressed down on your shoulder, and he made sure to take notice of which was injured. “Learn your place, boy.” 

As you grimaced in pain and writhed beneath his foot, trying to give your injured shoulder relief, his words gave you a minor sense of accomplishment. He truly did sound like a snake as he hissed out his threats. 

Loki was disappointed. There was no fear on your face despite the pain he was inflicting, and your scowl didn't lessen from intimidation. He lifted his foot from you as though he had stepped in something unpleasant, and watched as you peeled yourself up from the mud. 

“You will not last long in this war.” Loki left you with those words, vanishing as he surely hid himself from the view of everyone and went back to his isolation. 

With him gone, you pushed yourself up from the ground and turned to complain to Asger and Bjarke. “You saw him! The bastard didn't even—” 

A fist slammed into your jaw, shoving your words back down your throat and your body back down to the mud. You landed, dazed, bringing your hand up to your jaw and squinting up to see who it was that hit you. 

Asger stood, his fist at his side, his face showing his remorse. Your chest heaved with every sharp breath you took, your arms shaking in the mud as you stared up at him. Your face was a mixture of betrayal and anger, but despite your temperament, you couldn't bring yourself to hit him back. 

“It's for your own good that you don't speak to the Prince that way. You’ll be killed for treason, Ove.” Asger felt guilt rise up in him. He truly felt bad for punching you so harshly in the face, knowing that now you had a bloody lip thanks to him. He couldn't bring himself to apologize though. He hit you for a reason, wanting to bring some sense back into you. You had been an idiot, talking back to such a deadly man in such a way. 

Your head turned to Bjarke, searching in him a sign of companionship, an apology, a sign of disapproval towards Asger, but there was none. Even as Bjarke reached down and offered to help you up, you saw no companionship left in him and slapped his hand away from you.

“Perhaps I was wrong about the snake. It seems all of the warriors here are deceitful liars.” Your voice was dripping with venom, and you stormed away from the two men with ferocity seeping from your skin. 

They didn't try and go after you. _Good_ , you thought bitterly. If they had tried you only would have pushed them away anyway. Halvor followed though. You hadn't tied his reins to a tree like the other horses because you thought he didn't need it. The beast seemingly had no intention of running away anytime soon. He followed you through the woods, and you wondered for a moment if he was only following you because there was a stream nearby. Perhaps he just wanted the fresh water. 

“Some friends they are, Halvor. And you’re probably just tagging along to get some fresh water. I should have known it would be stupid to trust anyone here,” you muttered, arms crossed in front of you as you finally neared the stream.

Halvor’s tail flicked towards you and he sighed, leaning his head down to get a drink of water just as you had guessed.

“Yeah, drink it all up Halvor. Then go back to hang out with Bark and Ass.” You knelt down near the water and splashed your face, rubbing your hands against your skin to wash away blood and sweat. When you reached for another handful of water, Halvor whinnied and pushed his snout against your back, sending you tumbling into the stream with a string of curses. You sat in the water, looking up at Halvor with a dumbfounded look on your face. “What _is_ this? Pick on Ove day?” 

Halvor just stared at you from the edge of the water, flicking his tail back and forth to swat away the occasional fly. 

“Well,” you sighed, standing up to take off your chest piece. “I suppose I should wash all this dirt off anyway. Keep an eye out, Halvor. I don't want any of the men to see me.” 

It was stupid. A reckless decision, but you would just get odd glances for not cleaning up. The other men had already cleaned themselves up anyway, so you were almost certain that no one would bother to walk back down to the stream. Asger and Bjarke knew you were here, sure, but they had no intention of bothering you anymore for the night. 

You slid your shirt from your shoulders, grunting in pain as you finally could see the bruise on your shoulder. You left your bandages wrapped around your chest, in case you needed to throw your shirt on quickly, but otherwise stripped to your underwear to wash yourself. You let your hair down from your bun and dunked it in the water, running your fingers through and cringing at the knots. 

Like this, you looked like an Asgardian woman. The mask of Ove withered away in small moments like this, and you sighed happily at being able to fully be yourself. As you talked idly to Halvor, you let your voice return to its normal pitch, no longer having to strain your vocal chords. The steed made you laugh as he stomped his hooves in the water, and you hurried to make him quiet down before someone came to see what all the ruckus was about. 

“Please, Halvor. Don't make so much noise. I need this moment of peace,” you soothed, reaching out to pet his smooth shoulders. You took your time getting clean, scrubbing at your skin and relishing in the clarity of it. No longer covered in mud, your skin could breathe again. 

“If only this battle had been meant for women, too. Things would be much easier that way, wouldn't they, Halvor?”

Your horse grunted in agreement, and you stood to wring your hair out. Peace could only last for so long, and so you found your shirt and pants and slid them back on, placing your armor on Halvor’s back so that he could help you carry it back up. As you walked again, you busied yourself with putting your hair up in another bun, working to make it look messy and undone. You feared looking too put together in case someone were to see it as a feminine thing. 

But unbeknownst to you, despite the precautions you took, a snake had seen you in the stream, and was angered and amused by the discovery he made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg 99 hits already?? I would love to hear what you guys think about this in the form of comments! It's really encouraging to see kudos, but interacting with you guys is also really nice. ^_^


	4. IV

Loki leaned against a tree, still thinking about his latest discovery. You had long since left the stream, moving along to go back to brooding and avoiding everyone but your horse. Loki stayed behind, not able to bring himself to go after you, to announce that he had seen proof of your treason and to see how your facial expression would change when he told you about the penalty. Of course, he was certain you knew that the penalty was death, but he imagined the sheer distraught that you would display would be incredibly satisfying. 

The prince clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a scowl replacing his smirk. For the very life of him, he swore he wanted you gone. It would be pleasant around the army without your loud commentary and abrasive vocabulary, and yet he almost felt there would be an absence of entertainment. Your tantrums at least provided him with a source of laughter, and your rudeness gave him an excuse to take his anger out on someone deserving of it.

He had thought that there was no greater satisfaction than putting you in your place, but every time he tried to do so you still kept that defiant glare going. And now, he understood why you were so abrasive to others, or knew part of why. You were trying to hide the fact that you were a woman. And it was that fact that had him also wanting to keep you around a little while longer. He wanted to know why you were disguising yourself as a man just to fight a couple of barbarians. He had heard that you were seeking revenge for someone you had lost, but who was that important to you? 

A lover? Loki couldn’t see how someone could look past your rude personality. A father? A mother? A sibling? A friend? There were too many possibilities, and he could think of none that would justify your lack of reasoning. He had no concept of loving someone so much. He loved his mother, perhaps, but even she would never be able to drive him to be so foolish. 

So what _was_ it?

And how were you capable of being stronger than even some of the very best warriors? He wanted to know. Needed to know what it is that makes you fight with such bloodlust. 

Yes, he wanted to see more of that bloodlust in your eyes. He wanted to push you, see just how easy it is to make you break. Your tantrum on the battlefield was surely not your real breaking point. So what was? Was it as simple as continuing to call you a boy? Which, now that he knew you were a woman, he thought was a pathetic thing to fret over in the first place. 

Or would you break from your own thoughts alone? The prince recognized your frustration. He saw that you were more bothered by yourself than you were by him or by others. You project your insecurities in the form of verbal threats. He, and though he'd never admit such a thing aloud, does the same. And as that thought fully came to him, he became furious. Irritated. Disgusted.

How could he, someone fit to be a ruler, be in any way similar to you, someone he thought would be better off serving until Ragnarok? 

Loki rubbed his fingers against his temples, wanting nothing more than to come to a conclusion about what to do with you. He was fighting with himself about whether to end this now, and it bothered him to no end that he was somehow growing _partial_ to you. No, no. Loki quickly wiped that thought from his brain. The only reason he was going to keep you around is because you were to be his new toy, nothing more.

Someone new to mess around with. Thor was someone he grew tired of, and the other men just didn't have the same spark as your anger did. The other men wouldn't fight with him. They shut their mouths as soon as Loki came near, not daring to be as disrespectful as you. He wondered briefly if you would be so nasty if you were really a man, or if it was just a front you put on to make yourself appear tougher. 

Either way, Loki couldn't say he minded your irritable ways. 

He had to stop thinking about this. There was no decision to dwell on. He wasn't going to go back and forth between throwing you under hooves or keeping you, nor was he going to be confused as to whether or not he _liked_ your revolting attitude. He was going to keep you around, but only to see how dedicated you would be to staying hidden as a man.

His smirk finally returned to his face, pleased with his final decision. You could stay, but he would make the rest of your time here hell (though you _were_ already punched by your friend, so he wasn't sure how much worse he could make it). He teleported out of the forest, back near the fire where Thor was drinking ale with Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral.

“Brother, I advise you to announce that no one should sleep too far from the fire. The barbarians are still in close proximity, and I fear we will lose _stragglers_ who sleep alone,” Loki suggested, putting on his mask of fake sincerity to hide his knowing smirk. 

Thor thought on the suggestion, downing his glass of ale and wiping his mouth. “That does seem like a good idea. I will make the announcement after another glass,” he said, laughing as Fandral passed him another.

Loki’s lip curled up in disgust, quickly moving away from Thor and his drunken friends. He didn't move far from the campsite though, eager to see your reaction. 

You distanced yourself from Bark and Ass as soon as you walked back towards the fire. You wanted nothing to do with them, and you made it clear by flipping them off as soon as they tried to talk to you.

“You are _not_ my comrades,” you had hissed as you walked past, ripping your mace and shield away from Bjarke’s hands when he tried to return them to you. 

You had felt bad the moment you saw their faces. Asger looked torn, as though he now regretted ever punching you in the first place. He could barely look at your face now that it was scrubbed clean. A nasty bruise was forming along your jaw, and your upper lip was torn and still bleeding. Bjarke’s blue eyes had softened, his mouth hung open in a silent apology. You had wanted to turn around, to apologize to them for being an ass, but you couldn't; your pride would never let you do that. 

And now you sat on your own, a distance aways from everyone, with Halvor resting at your side. You held your mace in your hands, rubbing your fingers over the bloodied blades and over the small engravings that hurt to read. You pulled your gaze away, turning to pat Halvor on the hip. You thanked him silently, his company putting your mind at ease. Leaning your head back on his warm body, you readied yourself to sleep. 

A growl escaped your mouth when you heard Thor’s booming voice cut through the laughter around you, effectively silencing the whole army.

“My brother has reminded me to keep an eye out for the barbarians that are nearby. Because of them, there will be no more men sleeping away from the camp. All must be with others, in case a hasty move is necessary.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Why would that bastard even care if there were casualties during the night?” You voiced your distraught to the beast beside you, and as you moved to just close your eyes and ignore the order, the Lying Prince appeared in front of you, a disgusting smirk on his face.

“Did you not hear the order, boy? Sleeping with that beast does not count as sleeping near other soldiers,” Loki chastised, and rolled his eyes as Halvor snorted in distaste. 

“Oh?” You sat up straight, a grin forming on your face. “Are you volunteering to keep me company in the night? I didn't know you had a thing for men, Prince Loki.” 

Loki laughed, but you could tell it was laced with bitterness. “Don't flatter yourself. If I were to have a preference for _men_ , you wouldn't be an option.” 

He left you with that, hinting just barely at him knowing the truth of your secret. The hint didn't go through to you. You were caught up in the insult of being called a boy, angry again because of the prince’s words. Still, you were quite proud of your jeer, and of his response. He had faltered for a moment, and you knew you had had the upper hand at least briefly.

With a dramatic sigh, you stood and shuffled over near the campfire, looking around at the men around you. Most were welcoming, already full of ale and blushing from their drunkenness. Fiske and his friends glared harshly at you, and you ignored them as you walked past. While the other warriors were sharing smiles and nods, none seemed keen on accepting your company, surely deeming you as someone who was more problematic than they’d like to deal with. 

You didn't dare look at Bjarke or Asger, shifting your mace nervously in your hands. Halvor stayed close behind you, nudging his snout at your back. If any other horse had done it, you were sure it would have been comforting. But Halvor knocked into you with force, kicking his hooves against the ground to express his irritation with your behavior. You ignored him, regaining your footing and still refusing to look at your previous comrades.

“Ove,” Bjarke started, the two men walking towards you hesitantly. “You can sleep beside us, if you are...okay...with doing so, that is.”

“I didn't punch you to be an ass, Ove. I'm sorry. We just don't want to see you get into unnecessary trouble. You’re like a brother to us,” Asger said, eager to apologize to you after you had said that they were no longer your companions.

“Save it, guys,” you said quietly, patting them both on the shoulders as you walked to their regular spot. “I'm only doing this because I have to. I don't forgive either of you. Yet.” You sent them a small smile, grabbing a blanket from Halvor’s pouch to lay on the ground for the three of you. 

Bjarke and Asger grinned, their excitement evident as they bumped shoulders and quickly moved to help you lay the blanket down. 

Loki was disappointed. He had hoped that your stubborn personality would have kept you from accepting your companions’ offer. He sneered, hoping that somehow in your sleep you would give away that you were a woman. For Hel’s sake, all they needed to do was take a long look at your facial features anyway. When you weren't scowling, you certainly looked like a woman. _An unattractive one_ , Loki added, refusing to ever bid you a compliment. But he watched from a distance in which he couldn't be seen, wanting to know how the night would play out.

When the sky finally darkened and the stars came out, you and the other two men were uncomfortably silent. You didn't want to talk, afraid to have to swallow your pride. Bjarke and Asger occasionally talked to each other, keeping their voices down so as not to disturb you. You rested at the edge of the blanket, kept close between Bjarke and Halvor. Halvor, the damned animal, was already loudly snoring in your ear. 

“Ove, we’ll quiet down now. It's about time we rest anyway,” Bjarke whispered to you, turning briefly to glance at you, but your back was turned on him. Bjarke wanted to tell you goodnight, but knew no reply would come. So he turned back on his back, staring up at the stars until he fell asleep.

Sleep felt like it couldn't come soon enough. You were unsettled by how close you had to sleep to the men. Not because of the nature of men and women usually sleeping together, but because you were worried you might give away your secret in your sleep. If your shirt rode up your bandages would show, or maybe you talk in your sleep and just don't know it. You huffed, covering your ears with your hand to try and block out both Halvor’s snoring and your own thoughts. 

Cursed be your restless mind.

But somehow, after an hour or so of restless shifting, you drifted to sleep. You didn't have to worry about your shirt riding up, but another problem arose when you slept each night. Your mind had a habit of drifting to dark places, and your forehead creased as a head dropped to the ground in front of you. 

You reached out to grab it, tears welling up in your eyes as you screamed. “Brother, brother!” You cried, holding his head in your shaking palms. 

You woke in a cold sweat, pushing yourself to a sitting position. You grabbed at your shirt, bunching it in your hands. Your eyes darted around in the dark, your scream building up in your throat but never escaping. Tears ran down your face, and you cast your gaze over to Bjarke, but all you could see was your dead brother. Bile rose from your stomach, and you ran to the forest for comfort.

You ran blindly until you reached the stream, tripping over branches and rocks on the way. You fell to your knees at the edge of the water, retching when you couldn't hold it back anymore. Your sickness continued until you were throwing up nothing but stomach bile. You were emptied, and yet your body still tortured you with gags. 

When it finally ended, you held yourself up with shaking hands, feeling as though you would pass out otherwise. The nightmares were normal, but you normally didn't wake up so sick. What _was_ it? Normally you slept alone, with Halvor, away from the camp. Was it the others that made you sick? 

You stared at the shifting water in front of you, searching for an answer.

“Fuck.”

It was Bjarke and Asger, it had to be. You had looked at Bjarke and thought him to be your dead brother, and surely it must have been that that shook your very core. You cared for them. You didn't want to admit it, you had never intended for this to happen, but you cared for them. So much so that in them you saw your older brother and were worried they would meet the same fate. 

You sat back, pulling your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. This was not what you wanted. You didn't want to care about them, you couldn't care about them. Caring meant weakness. Caring meant pain when they were injured and heartbreak when they die. You were terrified of that. Not many things terrified you, but losing someone you cared about was the worst thing imaginable to you.

It was why you distanced yourself from your parents, why you haven’t talked to them in years. You were afraid of losing them, and so you pushed them away, and now you were afraid of losing Bjarke and Asger. You hit your face with your palm, wishing that if you reminded yourself of the pain Asger dealt, you would no longer care for him. 

It didn't work. You hit, and hit, until you were crying. No physical pain would cause you to stop caring about him, and Bjarke had never left a mark on your skin for you to try and hate. 

Your shoulders shook, from the cold and from the tears that freely slid down your face. You were not the warrior that Thor had deemed the strongest. You were surely the weakling that Fiske and Loki had pointed you out to be. You just put on a strong front. For your brother. Because maybe he was in Valhalla looking down on you as you face this journey. For him, you wanted to be strong. 

But you were not. 

You pulled your hair from its bun and rinsed your mouth with water, trying to compose yourself, as surely you would be in trouble with Thor if he found out you had gone off on your own. Your reflection stared back at you, moonlight hitting the highest points of your face and reflecting off of your tears. 

What had you done? How could you ever think you were strong enough to be able to do this? No matter the twelve years you trained, you were still weak.

You took in a shaky breath, rubbing away your tears as you tried to find the strength in you to stand.

“Oh Brother. You must be ashamed of having a sibling so weak,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

You breathed in.

And out.

Calming your nerves.

And your stomach.

“Are you deaf to orders, boy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more insight into reader's mind and past.
> 
> There is so much more to be revealed about it ;)
> 
> What do you think Loki's going to do about Ove's secret?


	5. V

You froze. Why, of all times and places, did he choose to show up now? You wiped your eyes and moved to pull your hair back in a bun, refusing to look at the Prince until you readied your gaze to do so.

“Are you _stalking_ me, Snake? If you regret not sleeping next to me, surely you could just use your words and ask rather than following me out to the woods,” you said calmly, standing up from the water’s edge and turning to look at him. 

In the dark, he was even more mysterious. His facial features were hidden, and you were hoping the moonlight would hide your tears in the same way. It was, but Loki had already heard you crying in the first place. He had seen your whole fit, watched as you vomited the remainder of your meals out onto the ground and complained about being weak. He knew you had awoken from a nightmare, but he knew not what it was about.

“Again, don't flatter yourself. You are not my taste,” Loki repeated, the sheer thought of you with him sending a shiver up his spine. “Why are you here? Your orders were to stay with the others. Could you not retch near them?” 

He was mocking you. He was always mocking you. 

And this time you couldn't bring yourself to respond with something snarky. You had no wit left in you for the night, having used all of it that your energy would allow. And so you settled on saying nothing, your shoulders drooping. Loki frowned when he didn't get the response he was hoping for. He never thought that you, someone who seemed confident when insulting him every other minute of the day, would be silent now. 

“I asked you a question,” he repeated, though his voice lost some of the edge he had before. “Why are you here?”

You gave in. “I had a nightmare.” Your voice was quiet. You shifted in place. You hated to admit that you were so messed up because of a dream. “But why are you here?” You asked suddenly, still not understanding why the prince had followed you out to the woods.

“Address me as a Prince, boy. I am tired of your disrespectful tongue,” he chastised, hesitating with his answer to your question. “Do you really think I would want to be near those oafs for the whole night? We are not supposed to be alone, and you happened to be out here. It gave me an unpleasant little excuse to leave the company of boars.”

You tilted your head and looked at him, facial features scrunched up as you searched his face for a sign of honesty (or deception). 

“Liar.”

“Isn't it you that calls me the Lying Prince in the first place? It's of no surprise that I am not honest.” 

“So why are you really here then, _Prince_ Loki? Have you come to see how long I can hold my tongue before you injure my shoulder even more?” Malice returned to your voice, irritated by the Prince’s lying ways despite you asking a genuine question. You had confessed to him about the truth of you emptying your stomach near the stream, so why couldn't he just tell the truth about his situation? 

Loki ignored your question again. He knew doing so would irritate you more, but this time he had no want of angering you. “What was the nightmare?” 

You stared at him. For a long time. Then moved your fingers around the insides of your ears, before asking him to repeat himself, sure you had heard him wrong.

Loki was disgusted by your actions yet again, wiping his hands on his coat as though it was his fingers digging around in your ears. 

“ _What_ was your _nightmare_?” He asked again, annunciating his words with a hiss. 

Ah. So you had heard him correctly. He was asking you about your nightmare, surely to make fun of it the moment you answered. 

“Why do you wish to know?”

Loki sighed, his fingers on his forehead again as he wondered if it were possible for you to become anymore _irritating_ than you were in this moment. 

“Answer the question. If I have to ask again perhaps I will injure your other shoulder instead.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his threat, but you believed him when he said he would do it. 

“I have nightmares about my brother’s death. It's why I'm here,” you answered quietly, twisting your shirt in your hands anxiously. “It's stupid. But maybe the nightmares will end once the man who killed my brother is dead as well.”

Loki was silent, and you came to the conclusion that you preferred him when he was being snide. His silence made you uncomfortable, and what was worse was that he didn't take his eyes off of you, as if he was searching you for another answer.

You coughed loudly to break the silence. “Yeah, well, I answered. Will you leave me alone now?”

“Who killed your brother? Just some random barbarian? How do you expect to find them?”

“It was the Barbarian Prince, Fritjof. I imagine finding him won't be too difficult.” You hoped it wouldn't be too difficult. 

Loki raised an eyebrow at that, his laughter making your head hurt. “Is that why you threw a tantrum the other day? Because you didn't see Fritjof? Are you expecting to kill him yourself?”

“I won't let anyone else do it. I'd kill them to be able to bash his head in,” you said, not liking that he truly was mocking you now. You braced yourself for whatever his next words would be.

“You’re too weak to be able to kill him. The reason this war is fought by only the strongest warriors is because even Odin failed to slay him. You are weak. You get pushed around by your own horse.” There was no malice in Loki’s voice. It surprised you, and lessened your anger. “I thought you were a fool before but now I see that you’re beyond even that.”

“I am,” you admitted quietly, nodding your head in agreement. “I am a fool, I am weak, I am what you say I am. But I _am not_ a coward. Fritjof will die by my hands, no one else’s! And no matter how you or anyone else tries to dissuade me from this, I will not listen.” Loki stood silently, as if urging you to keep talking for his own entertainment. “I won't listen to a coward who barely fights in battle for fear of exhausting himself. If all you ever call me is weak and a fool, I will never match those insults with cowardice, but with stubbornness and ferocity.”

Loki was surprised by you yet again. He was growing irritated with you and your loud mouth, yes, but he was surprised you didn't cower from him. He thought he had broken you down when you admitted to being a fool and a weakling, but he was wrong. And by the Stars he hated to be wrong.

“Not a coward?” He asked, stepping closer to you. “You surely must be if your nightmares made you run from camp.” He was testing you, gauging your responses to his infuriating words.

“And you surely must be the Lying Prince I claimed you to be if you are acting as though your nightmares do not affect you the way mine do me.”

He stared at you, no longer entertained now that you flipped the blade to face him. You were right, and it invoked enmity in him directed towards you. He opened his mouth to speak, but you sharply cut him off.

“I’ve seen you. My nightmares come every night in some degree or form. I've been awake enough to see you haunted by your own past. You don’t walk along in the night to escape other warriors, you walk to avoid sleeping, to avoid those nightmares. For someone known for being a deceitful sorcerer, you’ve failed to keep that hidden.” Your voice was level, quiet, understanding. You tried your best to hide your own nightmares. Never would you willingly tell someone that you suffered from them. They would truly think you weak then. “You do not need to be defensive about this. I understand. I know what it's like to—”

His rage cut you short. 

“Shut up! You insufferable bitch, just _shut up_! You know nothing of who I am, don't try to fiddle around as though you do.” His green eyes glowed softly, and as he took a step towards you, you swore your tongue would be cut from your mouth for the words you spoke.

“Do you get this way every time someone is right about you?”

And like that, Loki was gone from in front of you. You took a step back, sighing and turning back to the stream briefly. Now that you knew Loki was up and about, you didn't want to risk taking time to yourself in the water. You turned to head back, but froze when you felt someone’s breath against your ear.

“You are not one to blame anyone for being defensive when you are defensive about _every aspect_ of who you are.”

You whipped around to look at him, but he was gone again. _What?_ Your chest tightened and made it hard to keep your composure. What did he mean? Did he know? How could he know? Were you really so foolish as to ever think you could even talk to someone a deceitful as him without him seeing right through you? 

No.

No.

This wasn't a thing. He didn't know. He was talking about how you lied about being brave. How could he ever believe you weren't cowardly? Yes. That was it. He didn't know you were a woman. It was okay. It was fine. 

No.

No.

Everything was not _fine_. 

You grabbed your hair, feeling like you could scream. But you couldn't. If you did, the others would think there was an attack, they’d find you screaming in the woods, and maybe Loki would tell them that you were committing treason. Or maybe you'd end up discharged for being too mentally unstable.

“Oh, fuck him!” You growled. There was no plan in your mind that could let you escape from this. If Loki knew, there was no way to change it. You would just have to pretend like he didn't, like you didn't have a secret in the first place. Don't act any differently around him, and maybe then everything will just...fall into place or something. 

You stayed standing near the water for a few minutes longer, collecting your thoughts before you finally head back up to the campsite. You looked at Halvor, smiling a little at how the bastard didn't even move an inch since you left. Turning your head, you narrowed your eyes at where Loki normally slept. He wasn't there. Of course he wasn't. You huffed and fell down beside Bjarke, and although you knew you had a million reasons to not be able to fall asleep, you still shut your eyes in an attempt to.

When morning came, you tried to swat Bjarke’s hands away from arm as he tried to shake you awake. 

“Ove, we’re going to leave without you.”

Asger’s words made you slowly sit up, your face looking like someone had dragged you through Hel. They gaped at you, noticing your baggy and irritated eyes. 

“No sleep?” Bjarke asked with a laugh, helping you up from your spot as Asger went to roll up the blanket.

You nodded slowly, taking his arm and lifting yourself up. “It was awful,” you said honestly, not having to exaggerate on that part of your night. 

“Just look forward to the fact that by this time tomorrow, we’ll be at a town waking up in an inn rather than on the cold ground.”

You nodded with a smile. That did sound pleasant. When the army finally set out towards the nearest town, your mind was practically a wrecking ball to your emotions. Bjarke and Asger rode next you as always, and you gratefully listened in on their conversations to distract yourself. 

“Remember what I said to you, boy,” Loki spoke as his horse passed yours, and you were certain Halvor was going to buck you off with how he stomped his hooves and whipped his tail in disapproval of the Prince. 

Staring as he rode past, you weren't brought back to full consciousness until Asger spoke up.

“You spoke to him again, Ove?” 

There was disappointment in the man’s voice, his brown eyes looking at you with disapproval. You quickly shook your head. 

“No, I didn't. He probably said that to remind me about how I ‘won't last long in this war’.” You mocked his words, lowering your voice even deeper and haughtily pushing your hair back to mimick Loki’s.

Bjarke grinned, but Asger wasn't amused, nor did he look like he believed you. “I stand by what I said to you the other day. You should be more careful with how you talk about him or to him. He’ll gut you.”

At that, you turned away from them again. You had nothing to say in response because you knew you would only be lying, and Loki’s reminder had you wishing you could sink your whole body under the mud. Last night’s events played over and over in your mind, and you found a solid resolve within yourself. You wouldn't be close to Asger and Bjarke. You couldn't be. They hurt. Watching their faces for too long meant seeing them dead again, the same way you had seen Bjarke as your brother last night. 

You pulled Halvor to your left, forcing the horse to move away from your comrades in order to give yourself a break. But Halvor stubbornly snorted, and Asger’s voice cut over your irritated mumbling.

“Stop doing this, Ove,” he called, reaching out to grab your arm and pull you back towards Bjarke and him.

“Doing what, Ass?” You snapped, and he raised his eyebrows at you and motioned to you as if you had just proved his point.

“This. You keep getting lost in your own head and then you avoid everyone around you. It's worrisome.”

“Oh, but why would you care? Last I recall this bruise on my face is from you.”

There it was. The walls built right back up around you again, and it was as though you had never grown fond of these men in the first place. Or you _wished_ it was like that again. The walls around you this time had cracks. The exterior was crumbling around you and giving you a view of Asger and Bjarke that you didn't want because you were selfish and you wanted to avoid the pain. The cracks showed Asger open his mouth to apologize again, but Bjarke rested a hand on his shoulder and told him it was best to leave you alone. To give you some space.

And god, with the way your head was pounding you felt like you needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But did Loki actually care about reader's nightmare, or was he just wanting to find more leverage to use against her?
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who left comments on previous chapters!! Responding to them makes my day.


	6. VI

The small town was wonderful in your eyes. Growing up in a village just outside of the main city, you were used to constant noise and chatter. Here there was none of that. Quiet hooves walked along the stone paths, and villagers joyfully went about their days, trying not to be interrupted by the army that passed them. Your eyes were lit up, and Bjarke and Asger didn't fail to notice how happy you seemed to be near other people that weren't warriors as well.

“Prince Thor,” you called, Halvor walking up beside the other prince’s horse. You did your best to ignore Loki when he looked at you, preferring the company of Thor. “How long will we be staying here? Do you think we will have an opportunity to look around?” 

You couldn't help but ask. You wanted so desperately to be able to walk around this village and observe the people by yourself. You needed a break, some time in which the other warriors were absent from your side. That way you could think about what needed to be done, and maybe get some training in if you could find a small secluded area.

“We will be here for two nights,” Thor answered, loud enough for plenty of other soldiers to hear as well. “And yes, there will be plenty of time to walk around the village, so long as you are accompanied by someone else. Though I know you can handle yourself, we still need to keep a look out for an attack.”

You nodded attentively, though your frown gave away your true feelings. Thor noticed them, aware of what had happened between you and Asger, and aware that it was Loki who had caused it.

“There are no exceptions to this rule, Ove. Bother my brother if you must,” Thor joked, and though you knew it was good natured, the very idea of it made your skin crawl.

Yeah. Bother Loki to take a stroll around the village. That would go outstandingly.

“I'm not sure he’d be so fond of doing that,” you responded, trying to stay away from telling just how much you hated even the idea of prolonged contact with the Lying Prince. After last night, you were sure you had had enough of him. 

Loki had mixed feelings about what it would be like to accompany you through the village. Part of him wanted to test you, to see how uneased you were by his words. From the way you would barely acknowledge his presence now, he could tell you were trying to avoid him. It made him wonder if you would still lash out when he toyed with you, or if now you would sheepishly turn away to ignore him, fearing that he would give away your secret. He turned to respond to your words, but found that you had already politely backed your way out of the conversation and let your horse fall back into line with the other soldiers.

He ground his teeth together, turning away quickly now that he had to sit in his lost opportunity. His hands tightened around the reins of his horse, and he made sure to not look back at you, lest you mistake his glance for anything other than malice. 

“Something bothering you, Loki?” 

Loki laughed, short and bitter. Thor was always right on cue. Whenever Loki was sitting in his conniving mind, Thor always pulled him out of it with some irksome question like _that_. 

“It is nothing. I was just thinking about how foolish it was for you to even suggest that I accompany that boy around the village.”

Thor laughed, and it was genuine compared to his brother’s. “I thought you liked him. Considering he is still alive despite talking to you directly, and rudely, as you had said, I assumed you had deemed him worthy in some way or another.”

“Being entertained by someone is different from enjoying someone's company. He is nothing but a thorn in my side. It's callous of you to assume otherwise.”

Thor gave his brother a response of silence, but also a glance in his direction that said much more than Loki would have liked. It said that Loki was a liar, that Thor knew he was lying, and that his brother saw something in your interactions with Loki that the Lying Prince would never admit. A growing sense of comradery. A similarity. Multiple similarities that all made Loki’s thin lips curl into a sneer. 

When the army reached the small inn, you slid from Halvor’s back and led him over to the stable. He swung his head in disapproval, and you rolled your eyes at his little tantrum. “Halvor, _please_. It's impossible for you to stay in the inn with me even though I know you hate the other horses. Just suck it up for two nights. I promise that during the day I'll come and be near you,” you spoke, ignoring the weird looks you got from the warriors around you.

They wondered why you talked to your horse like it was a person, and it was that judgemental inquiry that you knew Halvor disliked. He didn't want to be treated like some animal whose only good is transportation. He just wanted a little respect, and you sympathized with that. 

Halvor turned and snorted right into your face, making you cry out in disgust. When he did things like that, however, you sympathized a little less. You grumbled your complaints about the ‘damned beast’ as you rubbed his snot from your forehead with a grimace. 

“Maybe I won't come see you during the day just because of that,” you sneered, hands on your hips as you nodded your head towards his stall in the stable.

He kicked hay at you as he walked in, and you grinned with a sense of accomplishment. “You even have fresh hay and carrots, Halvor. Consider this your own inn room. You’re getting more privacy than I can get.”

“You have that horse’s snot all over your face. Are you so uncivilized that you can't keep yourself clean for a day?”

You cast Halvor an ‘I told you so’ gaze before looking over at Loki with a tilted head. “Oh? I thought I wiped it all off,” you said carelessly, wiping some more off of your forehead and flicking it in his direction with a cackle.

He moved to dodge the onslaught of snot flicked towards him, glaring in your direction. “You are disgusting,” he mumbled, opening the gate to the stall. His horse willingly walked right on in, giving Loki no problems whatsoever. It would have made you envious if his black steed didn't seem to have just as sour of a personality as its owner. 

“Halvor, you are truly a great horse for not having such a personality as that. But I am truly sorry you’ll have to be next to such ungrateful company.” You closed Halvor’s stall door, but when you were almost out of the barn, Loki’s hand wrapped around your upper arm. 

“You still don't bow your head to me or address me as a prince, boy. Do you not fear the consequences?”

He was testing you. It was written all over his face, and for a moment you felt proud that you could read him perfectly in this moment. It made you feel powerful, like you somehow leveled the playing field with him. You weighed your options. Play into it, act as what he expected, or you could respond with your _insufferable_ attitude (as he would put it).

“Oh,” you said quietly, slowly pulling your arm from his grip. “I am truly sorry, my Lying Prince. But you still call me _boy_ rather than by my name, and so I don't think I could bow my head to your own disrespect. I'll just match it with my own. I do suppose that I could continue addressing you as the Lying Prince though, since you’ve been so insistent.”

“What is your name then?”

His words froze you to the floor. His smirk unsettled you. You lost all previous power you had held, and now you stood beneath him again. But you would not give in. “My name is Ove, and you know that already. So call me by my name rather than by boy.” You continued walking, saying goodbye to Halvor but keeping your eyes locked on the entrance of the inn.

You barely got a moment’s break upon entering the inn when Bjarke spoke to you, and you quickly cast your gaze to the floor. 

“The prince’s orders are to split into rooms of five. I told them you’d be staying with Asger and me, but Fiske and his pal were thrown in our room as well,” he reported to you, a small hopeful smile on his face that made you desperately want to return one.

“That's fine, I guess. We’ll see how long Fiske can keep his mouth shut.” You walked with Bjarke to the room, noticing how he nervously shifted about as if he didn't know how to speak to you.

It made your heart clench. You had done that. It wasn't him that had ever changed, it was you. Your lashing out at Asger made him hesitant to be able to address you the same way as always, and you wondered if that would change the dynamic on the battlefield as well. Perhaps now he wouldn't be at your side to help you along. Perhaps now Asger and him wouldn't rip you from your selfish thoughts in order to protect you. Perhaps now—

“Bjarke,” you cut your own thoughts off, “Prince Thor made it a requirement that we must walk around accompanied by someone else, in case of an attack.” You hesitated, fiddled with the strap of your bag. 

“I'll come along with you.” Bjarke answered before you even spoke the question, and you nodded gratefully, quickly reminding him that he didn't have to if he didn't want to. “It's not an issue, Ove. You’re a friend.”

You didn't respond, and this time it was Bjarke who hesitated with his words. Only you didn't cut in to help him out, and he kept silent as you both dropped your bags off at the room. You tied your small pouch of coins to your belt, frowning at the small amount you had. If it weren't for all of the costs being covered by the Allfather, you would have starved a few nights ago. 

“I want to check out the market,” you told Bjarke, finally breaking the silence now that you were out of the inn and strolling around the village. “Find something for my mother, maybe.” It was true that you hadn't spoken to your parents in ages, but only because they believed you to be possessed by some demon of bloodlust. When you returned home after killing Fritjof, though, you thought a gift to her would be fitting. As an apology for causing her so much trouble over the years, and disappearing now. 

“I'll look for something for my younger sister then. Though I'm not entirely sure what she would want,” Bjarke said, scratching the back of his head as you neared stands of jewelry and knickknacks. 

“How old is she?” 

Your eyes ran over the jewelry out on display, waiting for something to pop out at you. You hadn't truly had a conversation with your mother in years, so you were unsure of what she would want.

“A teen. An irritable, nitpicky teen.” Bjarke’s words made you laugh. There was no contempt in his voice, just sheer exhaustion. You imagined his younger sister was quite the headache for him, but you could tell Bjarke held nothing but love for her.

“Why not get her a bracelet? Something unique. This village is known for its bronze, she might like something like that,” you suggested, and Bjarke looked at you with surprise. You turned your face away from him when you felt your cheeks flush from embarrassment. _Of course_. You were a man, you weren't supposed to know about things like jewelry. “Don't look at me like that, Bjarke. My mother was a jewelry maker. I had to spend countless hours listening to her talk my ear off about metals and stones.”

That was true, at least. When you were young your mother made you and your brother sit around her table as she pointed out which stones and which metals looked beautiful together. That was a time before your village was raided by the barbarians. You wished that time had never ended. 

Bjarke laughed, raising his hands up in surrender. “I'm not mocking you. Just surprised. I didn't know someone as fierce as you would know anything about women’s jewelry.” You glared at him, and he laughed again. You couldn't help but like the sound of it. “You have to help me with this, Ove. Tell me if I pick something out that would be ugly to her.”

“You can count on me.” 

After an hour or so of walking around the market, you had relaxed around Bjarke’s company. Laughing at his jokes, teasing him for his poor taste in jewelry. You had helped him pick out a gorgeous turquoise and bronze bracelet for his sister, but only after rejecting the thirty or so others he picked up. Bjarke, because of the wide selection, was overwhelmed, but at ease with the fact that he had finally found something for his sister.

Now he just had to wait on you, and you proved to be a lot pickier than he had ever thought you to be.

“Ove, are you sure nothing has stood out to you yet?” He asked, and you could tell he was growing restless.

“Nothing's screamed at me yet. I promise that if I don't find anything in the next ten minutes I'll come back tomorrow with someone else to bother,” you swore, hand over your heart.

“Just keep looking, Ove.” He was amused by how seriously you took your promise, even going as far as to rest your hand over your heart. 

You kept your promise, that was certain. With only two minutes to spare, Bjarke heard your gasp as you held up a thin bronze necklace. The chain links were attached to three rubies, and when you held it up it shined so beautifully in the sunlight. “This is it,” you told Bjarke excitedly, carefully resting the necklace in your hands. “Even my mother would be amazed by this.”

You called over to the vendor, reaching into your pouch and grabbing out all of the coins you had. You furrowed your brows at the price, counting the coins in your hand and mumbling when you didn't have enough. “Probably counted wrong,” you said nervously, and counted again. And again. And finally as Bjarke saw the frustration on your face and the vendor’s irritation, he reached into his pocket and took out the remainder of what you needed. He placed it in your hands, and you stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“I can't take this Bjarke, I won't be able to pay you back,” you said quickly, though you desperately wanted the necklace for your mother.

And Bjarke could see that, and so he rested one hand on your shoulder, and with the other he grabbed the money from your hands. “It took you over an hour to decide on this necklace. I'm not going to wait any longer for you to find another one.” He handed the vendor the coins, and you grabbed the necklace gleefully.

“What can I do to repay you?” You were stunned by the man’s kindness, and you would do anything you could to thank him for this favor.

Bjarke smiled at you like the angel he is, waving you to follow along back to the inn. You increased your pace to catch up to him, eagerly awaiting his price.

“Just stop isolating yourself, alright? You worry us. Rely on us for once, rather than just yourself.”

You lagged behind him briefly, surprised his request had nothing to do with money or material items. He just wanted you to rely on him and Asger, nothing more. You should really tell him no. Tell him that you would do anything to repay him _but_ that. Because you had just built these walls back up again and you did not want the structure to collapse so soon. But with a sigh, and a look back up at his hopeful blue eyes, you relented.

“I will try, Bjarke. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bonding time with Bjarke, and a promise that reader may or may not be able to keep. 
> 
> Halvor and Bjarke are honestly my favorite interactions to write besides the ones with Loki.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kind of short chapter, sorry.

Your promise would be kept, you would make sure of it. But now as you woke from another nightmare, you couldn't bring yourself to look at either of your comrades. You knew that if you did, your own fears would only gain more traction and you would end up sick to your stomach yet again. And this time, the only place to run would be to the bathroom, and that did not give you enough space to recover without embarrassing yourself. 

And so, doing your best to not look at anyone in the room besides Fiske and his pal (because them dying would be nothing to you) to make sure they were still sleeping, you slid out the door and into the halls. A long sigh escaped you when you gratefully realized that no one was even in the lobby of the inn. It would grant you an escape from noise for at least a little bit.

You splayed yourself out on the lounge chair, kicking your feet up over the armrest and covering your face with your arm. You were covered in sweat, your dream putting you in such a fit that your chest still rose and fell at the pace of a galloping horse. You pulled at your shirt that clung to your bandages beneath, desperately feeling like you needed fresh air, but afraid of being caught by someone who would chastise you for disobeying orders. You peeled your arm from your wet forehead, and you gasped when you saw the Lying Prince standing in the doorway. 

“Oh Hel, how long have you been standing there?” You asked, quickly sitting up and sending a glare his way. You were beginning to think that the man really was stalking you. 

“I only just walked in. I didn't want to disturb you,” Loki responded, and you narrowed your eyes and tried to gauge if he was being honest. This time, you couldn't tell. Your eyes followed him as he moved into the room, taking in your disheveled form. “Was it a nightmare again?”

A slow, single nod of your head confirmed it. He sounded tired, just as tired as you, and his pale skin looked sickly when you took a long enough look. His hair was unkempt, no longer slicked back neatly, and his shirt was wrinkled and clinging to him just as yours was to you.

“You had one too,” you said, not even having to ask him. You could tell. His shoulders were stiff, and there wasn't even a trace of a smirk on his face. He looked like a ghost, and he could barely seem to hold his eyes open. His guard was still up, yet he seemed too weak to care about the bags under his eyes or how the hollows of his cheeks now made him look sickly instead of sharp. He didn't respond to your statement, didn’t even nod his head.

You moved over on the lounge chair, patting the empty spot. “If you want to,” you started, hesitant in offering the seat up to the man you trusted least. “Have a seat? You look like you’re going to pass out at any second.”

He scoffed, shaking his head and remaining where he stood. “I am not that weak,” he told you, but you had a hard time believing him.

“Alright, tough guy, you keep standing there then.” You didn't make a move to take up all of the lounge chair again though, in case he changed his mind about sitting. You felt foolish when he rejected your offer, now realizing that there were plenty of open seats elsewhere in the lobby and you didn't need to offer the spot right next to you. “Are you going to say anything? Or just look at me while I'm covered in sweat?”

He turned his head away, and you expected to hear a scoff of disgust, but nothing of the sort came. “Did you become sick again?” He asked. You looked at your feet, twiddling with your thumbs. He was being genuine, and the fact made you unsure of how to answer him. Your wit failed you whenever he was being sincere, and you struggled with a response. You wanted him to revoke his question, but he didn't.

“Not this time.” 

“Why were you sick last time?”

“I don’t think I would want to tell someone who won't tell me the truth about _their_ nightmares.”

He sucked in a breath, looked at you again. He had no strength to respond in anger, and in truth he wasn't angry with you at all anyway. So instead he changed the subject.

“Would you accompany me outside for a bit?”

The question made you tilt your head in confusion, and this time your actions did earn you a frustrated huff from the Prince. 

He clarified, in a quiet hissed voice, “You look like you need it and you are not allowed outside alone.”

You nodded, standing from your spot and walking over to him. You knew he wasn't really looking out for you in this moment. He needed the fresh air just as much as you, but this was probably easier than admitting that right now he was weak. 

When you were outside, you were thankful for the cool air against your damp skin. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, your chest finally reaching a calmer pace. Loki watched you while you remained unaware, quickly turning his head when you reopened your eyes. The two of you walked in silence, and to you it didn't feel uncomfortable at all. Neither of you were sneering at each other, harassing each other or threatening each other. Instead you were both calming your nerves, stealing glances, and healing from nightmares together. You wanted to know what scared a man like him. He frightened everyone who knew him, and yet something could shake him so that he would set aside his pride in order to escape his thoughts. 

It was fitting that his mind would be his weakness. If he frightened so many, there must be something in his own psyche that could frighten him as well. He was similar to you in that way. Your biggest weakness was your self loathing thoughts that told you that you were worthless. You wondered if he had similar thoughts, if he too sat in self loathing and projected it out onto other people. 

“Stop thinking so much,” Loki snapped, and you jumped out of your thoughts. 

“Wait, you can't read my thoughts or anything, right?” You asked, confused by his command.

Loki stared at you, appalled by your ignorance. 

“Of course not, you dimwit. But you keep looking at me like you’re trying to read _mine_ , and I don't appreciate the invasion of my privacy.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, pushing your hair out of your face. “I just was wondering what your nightmares are like. You display yourself as someone who has no weakness, but twice now I've seen you up close after your nightmares, and I want to know what they’re about. I don't quite think it's fair that I told you what mine are about, and yet you won't tell me yours.”

“Why would you care?”

“Because I told you mine!” God, you were stubborn. 

“If that's the only reason than you won't ever hear what mine are about.”

“No! Loki, listen.” You grabbed his arm, pulling him to look at you. “I can't–I’ve never told anyone about mine and yet you pressured me to do so. Let us have this in common, won't you?”

“Then I will tell you when I see fit, if at all.” He didn't move from your grip, didn't chastise you for calling him by his name with the absence of a formality. Just let you hold onto his arm and stare up at him.

“I won't ask again then.” You resigned from your stubbornness, slowly let go of his arm and crossed your own over your chest. “But don't ask me anymore about mine until you’re wanting to talk about yours.”

“Thank you, then.” 

You smiled at him, but when his words fully sunk in you took a step back with raised eyebrows. You pointed at him, a grin spreading across your face. “Did the Lying Prince just _thank_ me for something?” 

His lips curled into a frown, but his eyes hinted at his amusement towards the pride that spread across your face. 

“Do it again.” You punched him in the arm teasingly. “Come on, Loki, do it again.”

“Are you a fool? Why would I thank you again when you didn’t deserve it in the first place?” He was baffled by you, but nonetheless the corners of his lips were pulling into a smirk.

“Oh come on, say it again, Loki. Or does it hurt your pride too much to do so?” You placed your hands on your hips as you walked, lifting your chin, closing your eyes, and puffing out your chest mockingly. “Oh, Ove, I sincerely thank you for your kindness.” You opened an eye to look at his reaction to your poorly done impression.

His shoulders shook, and a wonderful sound reached your ears. Both of your eyes opened wide as you spun to fully look at him. He was laughing. Without spite in his voice, he was laughing. You liked his laugh. It was different from Bjarke’s, who had a laugh that was so bountiful and constant that it was like a melody on its own. It was different from Asger’s, who had a laugh that resonated like a pounding drum. It was different from them, but you somehow cherished it more. It was rare, genuine, and was more elusive than any other part of him. 

“The Liesmith can laugh,” you marveled, and he quickly cut his laugh off as though embarrassed by your words. “If all it takes is my poorly done impressions to hear more of that, I wouldn't mind going about doing them all day.”

“Stop that,” Loki said quickly, attempting to dismiss the conversation about his laugh. But you wouldn't let it just end there, of course. You were too stubborn for that.

“Stop that, boy. You are insufferable and my laughs are only to mock you, nothing more.” Lowering your voice so much made your voice catch in your throat, making your words die off in a croak as you coughed into your arm.

“Now you’re just being foolish,” Loki chastised you, smiling while trying to hold back his mirth. 

There was something nice about the way he smiled, but rather than saying anything about it, you waved a hand in dismissal. 

“I'll stop, but only because my voice hurts too much to do that any longer.”

Loki paused. “What does your voice truly sound like?” He asked, eyes following your movements as you stared at him with a raised eyebrow. You faltered whenever he asked questions like this, and he knew it was because you wanted to pretend as though he didn't know the truth about you. Whenever you struggled to answer, your lips twitched, and you looked to the left as if all of your wit stood beside you. 

“Why do you ask such weird questions? I know you are the God of Mischief but you ask things that have obvious answers. My name is Ove, _this_ is my voice.”

He nodded, not wanting to pressure you anymore in this moment. He could see the way your whole body tensed under the weight of his gaze, and in this moment he could see that you didn't fear him, but you did fear the questions he asked. 

“It’s been long enough,” he said, and you nervously took a step away from him. He shook his head. _Not about that_. “You seem better now. Are you?”

“Oh, ah, yeah. Yeah, I am.”

He placed his hand on your shoulder, and within seconds you were back in the lobby. Your eyes were wide, whipping around to look at your surroundings.

“You can't _do that_ to me!” You shrieked, clutching at your chest dramatically. “I nearly had a heart attack. You can't just teleport people without giving them any warning.” 

Instead of an apology, he laughed again. You truly were a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more Loki for you. 
> 
> We've reached over 400 hits!! That's crazy to me. Thank you so much to anyone who reads/comments/leaves kudos. It means the world to me.
> 
> And about the length of this fic, in case anyone is wondering: I currently have 13 chapters written total, and am nowhere near the middle of the story. I can probably estimate around 40-50 chapters, but who knows!


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 50 kudos!! I'm stunned guys. Thank you for the lovely comments as well.

Loki pushed himself away from the counter, smiling thinly when he noticed why you were no longer responding to him. You had sprawled back out on the lounge chair after recovering from teleporting for the first time, and now you were fast asleep. This time, there was no trace of any nightmares sneaking up on you, and Loki thought you would safely sleep until morning. He wanted to move you back up to a room, but doing so would only garner the attention of other soldiers, and he would not want to answer any questioning glances about why he was holding a sleeping Ove in his arms. 

He had no intention of giving your secret away, for now he had laughed with you rather than at you. He wasn't sure what it was that made him do so. Perhaps it was his fatigue from the nightmares. Any other day and he was sure he would have just found you to be a nuisance. But now he was beginning to find your little quirks interesting, and he wanted to know who you really were. Ove irritated him, but underneath that facade, despite you still being rude and prideful, the real you was someone he was curious about. 

Loki mumbled about how much of a hassle he had created with himself now that he had grown semi fond of you, and teleported himself to a room to grab a blanket. He teleported back, moving over to you and laying it fairly haphazardly over your sleeping form, as if being near you for too long would cloud his senses even more. When he was sure that you wouldn't wake up from another nightmare at least for a little bit, he teleported back to his own bed, but made no move to fall back asleep.

He leaned against the headboard, hands clasped in his lap as he stared at the wall and tried to make sense of you. He still knew so little about you, and still could not understand how your mind worked. He knew you had lost a brother, but it was incomprehensible to him as to why you would dedicate your life to avenging him. You were even going so far as to disguise yourself as a man, to strain your vocal chords and bind your chest. It was a wonder you had not yet been found out by anyone else. Or perhaps your comrades did know, and just chose to ignore it. 

Loki closed his eyes and tried to rest, but failed to fall asleep even when the sun rose outside of the windows and Thor began to wake. He was too worried to have a nightmare, and too caught up in thoughts of figuring out you, because you were proving to be a larger puzzle than even he was. 

Downstairs in the lobby, you were still completely passed out on the lounge chair, hugging the blanket tightly to your form as you snored quietly. Other men in the army started pouring down slowly to make their way for breakfast, glancing at you but not bothering to wake you. Even Loki came down eventually, and strolled right past you, pleased that you had slept through the rest of the night. It wasn't until Asger and Bjarke came down that anyone dared to wake you, and Bjarke did so gently this time, since there was no real time limit on how long anyone could sleep today.

You woke when you felt Bjarke’s hands push at your arm, sitting up quickly as though you were late to move. You blinked at the blanket that fell onto your lap, not remembering having grabbed one.

“Gee guys, I know you look at me like a younger sibling, but the blanket might be a bit overkill,” you joked, but Bjarke and Asger both shook their heads and denied having gotten you the blanket in the first place.

“We were fast asleep the whole night, Ove. Didn't even feel you get up,” Asger told you, making you even more confused.

“Then who…?” You let your question end there, playing with the fringe on the blanket. You had a feeling you knew who had given you the blanket, and you smiled at the thought of him having even that much kindness in his heart. Bjarke and Asger clearly didn't figure it out, and they looked at you while hoping you would tell them who it was.

“It was probably one of the innkeepers,” you told them, pointing out the young woman who worked behind the counter. “It was probably her.”

Asger looked back at the woman, his mouth dropping open. “There is no way in Hel that that woman would do that,” he told you, not wanting to believe that of all the men, she had picked _you_ to flirt with.

“You don't know that,” you hummed, folding the blanket neatly beside you. “I'm probably her taste, unlike you brawny boars.”

You didn't know how Asger was believing this. You had never been hit on by a woman before, especially not a woman as beautiful as the one behind the counter. But you would keep the blanket incident between you and Loki, as you were sure the Lying Prince would prefer it that way anyway. 

“I'm going to go visit Halvor. I'm sure he’s already sick of whatever bland hay they’re feeding him,” you said, cutting off Bjarke’s questioning glance. He had more wit about him than Asger, and you could tell that he didn't believe your lie.

You didn't want to answer any questions about it though, and so you cut across to the dining room where breakfast was set up for everyone. You grabbed a berry pastry for yourself and tucked a few apples under your arm, eager to bring them to Halvor. You hummed along quietly until you reached the stables, taking your time to walk over to your beast. When you reached him, you set your pastry aside and presented him with the four apples you had taken.

“Red and delicious, buddy,” you announced, tossing him an apple which he gladly caught in his mouth. Leaning against the stall door, you slowly ate your pastry and watched as Halvor gulped down every apple you brought him, leaving only the cores behind. When he was finished, he leaned forward and ripped your pastry from your hands, ignoring your “hey!” as he ate that too. “The Hel was that for, you ass! That was a good pastry, too.”

He huffed at your dramatics, looking as smug as ever.

“Fine, Halvor. You’ll just have to hear all about my eventful night with your favorite person, Loki.”

Halvor threw his head back, neighing loudly and angrily.

“Stop that! Who do you think I am Halvor? The night had nothing to do with anything like _that._ ” At your reassurance, Halvor calmed down, but still gave you a steely glare. “Why was I given such a beast with no manners?” You whined, and when Halvor bit your hand you figured that this time you deserved it. You looked at him, unimpressed, waiting for his jaws to unhinge and free your hand.

“Just listen to my story, okay? I had a nightmare last night, and when I went downstairs the Lying Prince was there too.” Halvor snorted, waiting for you to continue. “He has nightmares too, Halvor. Only he won't tell me what his are about. But they get him just as riled up as mine get me.”

You paused, leaning your head in your hand. “We went outside ‘cause he said I needed the fresh air, but really he needed it too. And Halvor, the man laughed. Like genuinely laughed. And not at me either. He laughed because of my poor impression of him.” Halvor looked unimpressed, and so you continued quickly, “Okay so that's not interesting to you, got it. But also, I fell asleep when we went back inside and he left a blanket with me. He must have gone all the way upstairs to get it.”

You looked at your horse expectantly, but all he did was stare. By the stars, could _anything_ impress this horse? 

“Well I thought it was nice of him. Proves he isn't as tough as he says he is, at least.”

“Do you always talk to your horse like this?” 

You blushed, and Halvor finally unclamped your hand, whinnying in delight. 

“Do you always do this?” You shot back at him, embarrassed that he had heard you talk about him in a positive light.

“Only when I hear someone talking about me to their horse,” Loki responded, and the smirk on his face made you roll your eyes. He handed his horse a plum, and you raised your eyebrows at the choice in fruit.

“Is your horse as picky as you?”

Loki didn't even have to answer, because Halvor nodded his head as an answer. You trusted him. He had to practically be roommates with the black steed anyway. You whistled, laughing quietly.

“I'm gonna take Halvor’s nodding as a solid yes.” You looked back at Loki, taking a moment to watch him as he fed his horse the last of the plums. “Thank you,” you said abruptly, making him turn his head. “For the blanket.”

“It seemed unfitting to wake you,” Loki responded. “And bringing you to your room would have brought too much attention. Did you have any more nightmares?”

You shook your head. “Did you? You still look tired.” 

Loki didn't answer, again. You waited, tapping your fingers on the stall door and counting down from sixty to see how long it would take him to respond. At thirty you lost patience. 

“Did you even go back to sleep?” Still no answer. You narrowed your eyes, picking up an apple core and throwing it at him. He dodged easily, looking at you through tired eyes. “You lose, Liesmith. If you did sleep you would have answered,” you said confidently, and that finally earned you a response, but not the one you had been hoping for. 

“Didn't you agree to not ask about my nightmares anymore?”

“I agreed to not ask what they’re _about_. I'd say I can still ask if you slept though,” you told him confidently. “You’re not immune to not needing sleep, Loki. If you don't sleep tonight you’re going to have a problem tomorrow when we go back to killing barbarians.”

“Why all of a sudden are you acting as though you care about this? Last I recalled, the other day you were calling me a lying snake.” His voice had an edge to it now, and you weren't in the mood to deal with it.

“And last I recalled, you called me an insufferable bitch and threatened me. And yet last night you not only helped me calm down but also went through the effort of getting me a blanket to sleep with.”

He said nothing. You gained confidence.

“Stop going back and forth between liking and disliking me. Dare I say it, but I think we’re more similar than you’d like to admit.”

This time he turned away from you. Back to his horse. You grumbled about him being childish before opening the door for Halvor. “I’m taking Halvor for a walk.”

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere by yourself, remember?” Loki asked you, and you groaned at his reminder.

“I'm only going a short distance. Halvor doesn't like people,” you replied, swinging yourself up onto Halvor’s back when he leaned down to help you. “If anyone asks, I'm training. I need to do so anyway. Or make something up, Liesmith. I trust you can do that for me.”

You grinned, and he just shook his head as you took off with Halvor, pausing only to retrieve your mace from your room. You rode Halvor out to the field, relishing in the feeling of the wind against your face. You needed this. Here you could ride in peace and in silence, without having to worry about staying in line with other soldiers or defeating enemies. You could just ride. Trust Halvor to go where you wanted him to. Your beast enjoyed it just as much as you, and that was easy to tell. He whinnied as he ran, and had no saddle on his back or reins pulling at him. He loved the freedom, and it almost made you sad that you weren't able to do this more often with him. Even now, you were breaking the rules to do so. 

Halvor slowed to a stop when you reached the middle of the field, and you slid off of his back, holding your mace a careful distance away. You tested your shoulder, swinging your mace carefully at first. When your shoulder put up no resistance, you swung back, harder this time. Still nothing. 

This was perfect.

This was exactly what you needed and more. You pivoted, swinging your mace and ducking as though an opponent was swinging right back at you. Training like this was something you were used to. Even without a sparring partner, you calculated your movements and told yourself when something wouldn't work. Too slow. Too soft. Too low. Not a weak enough spot to take down an enemy at. You had made training like this work for my twelve years of your life, only ever sparring with someone once it came to getting into the army. And your methods had proved to be flawless, if not for how you beat yourself up over every wrong step. 

“One wrong step and you’re dead,” you told yourself, swinging your mace in another direction. “Fritjof will laugh at me if this is how I fight him. He’ll laugh and bury my body in the dirt effortlessly. And then.” You lifted the mace above your head. “And then I'll never be able to kill the bastard!” 

With another swing of your mace, your shoulder popped out of place again, and your reward for your recklessness was your own scream. 

“Oh, oh fuck,” you breathed, dropping your mace to the floor as you tried to realign your shoulder. It popped back into place with a bit of a struggle, but when you went to pick up your mace to try again, your arm froze in pain. You grit your teeth. You could barely even pick up your weapon before your arm screamed at you to quit it. 

You needed to bandage it, splint it, something. But doing so would only make the others aware that you were injured, as you worried that that would cause reason for you to stay back in battle. And you would not have that. 

Despite how badly you wanted to hide it though, you still could not retrieve your mace with your right arm. Halvor stood at your side, nudging your back to urge you to quit it.

“I can't, Halvor! It's just a shoulder injury, it doesn't—ah, fuck.” You had tried to pull your mace back up, but tears stung at the corners of your eyes when your shoulder dislocated again. Even from the simplest of movements, your body screamed in protest. “I can fix it,” you told your horse, leaning over and breathing heavily. “I'll readjust my bandages, wrap some around my shoulder. If I can just keep it in place it won't cause me any more issues.”

You looked around, glad you had rode out far into the field. Your fingers worked shakily at the buttons on your shirt, and you carefully slid it from your shoulders and let it fall to the ground. “Just readjust the bandages,” you whispered, using some of the excess bandages to wrap your shoulder in place. “This is nothing. It’ll heal in a day.”

It wouldn't. If it hadn't healed yet, you knew your body had slowed down. It was arguing against the constant strain you put it under, and now it was showing you just how badly you had messed up this time. You had retained an injury from overworking yourself before. Not even a year after your brother’s death, you had broken your leg when you misjudged a jump. And rather than listening to your mother when she told you to rest it, you kept going, determined that you could fight through the pain and still run and walk like you normally would have. Of course, you couldn't, but that didn't stop you from extending your healing process to nearly the full year.

Your body was reminding you of this mistake, and once again you refused to listen. 

Halvor bit your hair, and you grumbled like a child as you relented and picked up your mace with your other hand after putting your shirt back on. “Fine, you win. We’ll head back,” you told him, sitting yourself back down onto his back. He helped you more than usual, bowing himself even lower so that you wouldn't have to use your arms to pull yourself up. You patted his neck as a thank you, your pride choking you too much to say it out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ove is not familiar with knowing when to quit.
> 
> Out of curiosity, how do you all picture Ove? I have a way that I picture her in my mind, and so I'm curious about your own interpretations of her; whether you base her off of your looks or create a whole new character (as I tend to do with reader inserts).  
> I would love to hear about your interpretations though.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn a bit more about Ove's past and why she is so stubborn.

“Where did you go?”

Bjarke’s question came as soon as he found you back in the room, testing the range of motion in your shoulder. He didn't seem too upset, just curious as per usual. The man was always asking away or seeking your reasoning behind even the smallest things you did. He thought you were reckless; that much was obvious from the previous speeches he gave you. 

“I just took Halvor out for a ride. I didn't go far,” you said, flopping your body down onto the bed. “And I was only gone for two hours.”

“You didn't even tell anyone. I was worried something had happened to you,” Bjarke said quietly, moving his sister’s new bracelet into his bag. You were supposed to be packing to leave early tomorrow morning, but you had yet to make a move to clean up any of your things. And while you kept your personal items stuffed in a small bag in hopes that no one would bother to look through them, you still had some things lying around.

“Ah, I did tell someone,” you corrected him, sitting back up and swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of the bed. Bjarke didn't believe you, just rolled his eyes until you clarified. “I told Prince Loki.”

This time, you got more of a reaction than you had anticipated. Bjarke’s body tensed, and he set his bag down slowly. In his mind, he was piecing together your lies from earlier in the morning. About how the innkeeper had given you a blanket. He had never believed that in the first place, but he didn't know who else to pin the act of kindness on anyway. But now you were telling him that you were talking with the God of Mischief, and while he wanted things to make _more_ sense, they ended up only confusing him.

“Yeah? Did you tell him that in the midst of another argument?” Bjarke chuckled, hoping your answer to his question would be yes.

“No.” You puckered your lips as you thought about the truth of that statement. “Well I guess, yes, actually. But not like a big argument, like the one we had last time.”

“So you’ve been talking to him, then?”

“Yes, occasionally. Why are you asking this, Bjarke?”

“Because I don't like him. He tricks and kills people that disrespect him and we all know that you have no love for formalities,” Bjarke said, and his seriousness irritated you.

“Maybe if you just _talked_ to him, you wouldn't go around saying that he’s a demon.”

“I have talked to him, Ove, and he was an ass.”

“Then you haven't truly talked to him.” 

There it was. All of your stubbornness was out for a show now, and Bjarke found himself frustrated with it this time around. He hated the Liesmith. Every word out of his mouth was always said as though there was secret malice behind it. Even his movements made Bjarke tense with dread. He could never decide if the bastard prince was plotting someone’s death or if he simply just enjoyed seeing them struggle instead. He hated the man, and he had thought that you hated him too. 

The speeches you gave on how he was cowardly and rude could not just be wiped away with one mildly pleasant conversation. Bjarke’s light eyes met your dark glare, and his head shook in disapproval. He didn't notice how his actions made your own expression soften, and how your hands gripped at the edge of the bed to prevent you from wanting to tell Bjarke the truth of all of your small conversations with Loki. Telling him the truth, however, would mean letting him know about your nightmares. You only told Loki because he had seemed insistent, and because you knew that he experiences them himself. 

Bjarke and Asger never seemed interrupted in their sleep, nor had they ever spoken of losing someone close to them. They were here to do their duty as an Asgardian, and to protect their families. Nothing more. Opening up to Bjarke about your brief conversations with Loki meant confiding in him, and you were still hesitant about doing that. You had told him about your mother, and briefly about losing your brother, but the swarms of butterflies in your stomach would never quit their anxious flapping long enough for you to talk about the details of your nightmares. 

“Perhaps Asger really did punch you too hard,” Bjarke said after a while of silence. “It seems to have changed your whole frame of mind.”

You gave four quick barks of laughter, devoid of any actual humor as a response. 

“What could you even converse with him about anyway?”

“Oh,” you said quietly, back to kicking your legs as you tried to find an answer for the question you were trying to avoid. When your brain turned back on and you found a response, Bjarke raised a hand to silence you. And for once, you acknowledged it, and stayed quiet in your spot.

“Don't respond,” Bjarke said. “If you can't tell me, I suppose you really haven't forgiven me or Asger yet.”

You didn't say anything. Even when Bjarke left the room, you didn't speak up to stop him. Out of all the people to deserve being cut off and dismissed, you deserved it most. In this moment, your childhood was repeating itself. There is no question about whether or not you had been dismissed before in your life, but only twice now have you fully accepted it with solemn silence. 

The first time it happened was sometime around four years ago, when your parents decided that living with you was living with a burden too heavy for their shoulders. Every night was an argument, every morning a relief to them because you would be out of the house again. Back then, you were angry with them. You didn't understand how they could pack your brother’s items away as though he had never existed in the first place. They gave away his clothing, packed up his trinkets and hid them from view. Your once shared room became half empty of items but full of grief. 

Your grieving process was anger, theirs was hiding, coping. You didn't cope. Your brother was ripped forcefully from your hands when he tried to protect you. Your brother was slain in front of a ten year old’s innocent eyes. You _couldn’t_ cope; didn't know how to. Your parents wondered if you had even fully come to terms with his death in the first place, because you couldn't let him go. Even 6 years after, you had fought with them when they sought to throw away an old shirt of his they found under the bed. You had tried to rip the fabric from your father’s grip as he insisted that you had been hoarding too many of his items already, and when the thin fabric ripped in two, you screamed that they had no sympathy in their hearts. 

They hadn't witnessed his death, only came running home to see a small girl cradling her brother's head as she whispered to him that things would be okay. For days afterwards, they couldn't get a word out of you. They brought you to a doctor, but he claimed you were only in a state of shock. Your parents couldn't understand why their ten year old daughter had turned into an empty vessel. Getting you to eat was a vicious struggle. You didn't argue with them about it. You let them shove food into your mouth, let them make you chew and swallow, but at the end of the night the contents of the meal would be discarded from your stomach into a bucket. 

They thought it would have gotten easier once you started speaking again, but all you muttered was that you hated them for putting away his things. For acting like he had never existed. To you, packing away his items meant your parents didn't care. You didn't see them grieving about how they lost their son, or about how they were now losing their daughter as well. They were trying to cope, and you just made it harder for them. By fifteen, your parents had gotten used to the verbal abuse you dealt on them when you were frustrated. 

By the time you were an adult, they couldn't be used to it anymore. Now you were a woman. Still a child in attitude, but a woman nonetheless, and your parents no longer had it in them to fight with you. The final stretch was when you came home from training, bruised and bloody as though you had fought a real enemy. But there was no enemy, just you overworking yourself too far this time. You were angry that night. Your blood was boiling, and every word from your parents heated it more. They told you that you needed to quit it, to stop behaving like a child. They told you you needed to move on.

You told them that you would rather it be them dead than your brother. 

And a frail hand met with your cheek, and your father screamed that you needed to leave the house as your mother recovered from her shock. 

_“We can't do this anymore. You need to leave.”_

So you did.

You accepted your dismissal then, and now you were aware that you deserved to be cut off by Bjarke too. You stared at your feet, and your body slouched as though a boulder was being pushed down on you. You were so foolish. Going into this war you had laid out the rules for yourself. No unnecessary talking. No smiling. No presenting yourself as someone who was weak. And absolutely, under no circumstances, would you be allowed to befriend anyone. Because you didn't want to go through the inevitable pain of pushing them so far that they’d dismiss you.

And now that pain was back, and your chest tightened as your loathing came around to greet you again. Reaching for your bag, you took out a small sack inside. You kept a small bag of your brother’s belongings that you managed to keep from your parents with you at all times. Your brother’s favorite book, the knife he used to carve wooden animals with for you, a scrap of his favorite shirt, and a small letter he had written out for you when you were to turn eleven, shortly after his own birthday. You still haven’t read it. You told yourself you could give yourself that peace once Fritjof was dead. 

You took out the scrap of fabric, tying it around your wrist. Your eyes scanned the words of the book you had read a thousand times, and your mind filled the story in with little effort. These things granted you a small sense of comfort. The cloth reminded you of his presence still being around, and the book distracted you from your hatred for yourself. You were emotionally scarred, but your brother’s belongings helped you heal. 

When Bjarke and Asger came back to the room later in the night, Asger rested an apple on the nightstand near you. They didn't speak, only posed unspoken questions about the book you were immersed in and the fabric wrapped around your wrist. Bjarke smiled thinly, moving into his bed. He wondered if you had an intention of apologizing, but since you had never once uttered an apology in your time here, he doubted it. He’d stop seeking one eventually. He knew you were troubled, and he could only begin to imagine how difficult showing any sort of weakness for you was. He supposed even now, reading with that cloth tied around your wrist hurt your pride to do in front of others. 

The night went on like this until your eyes failed you and you fell asleep. Asger and Bjarke stayed awake, looking at you from the other end of the room as they thought about how they were ever going to get you to open up to them fully. They talked about how they had seen your smile and wished it would be a more common sight, and how they wished the pain on your features would vanish. And temporarily, while you slept now, it did vanish.

But then you began twitching, mumbling, sweating. Asger and Bjarke exchanged a short argument about whether they needed to wake you. It was when you grabbed at your hair that they decided they absolutely needed to. Bjarke moved over to you slowly, carefully grabbing your arm and shaking you awake. You did, but with a cry that hurt them both to listen to. You sounded like a wounded animal, a child who lost their mother in a crowd. 

“Ove, Ove, it's okay,” Bjarke said, moving to grab your other arm. “It's only us, Ove. It was just a nightmare. I promise you are safe.”

You weren't. In your mind, you weren't. You panicked, shoved him away as you shouted that he should die for what he did to your brother. You ran from the room, down to the lobby to escape the others. Bjarke and Asger didn't follow, wanting to give you time to perhaps calm yourself down.

They exchanged glances, never having seen you like that before. Was that something that happened to you every night? When one of them occasionally woke in the middle of the night to see you absent, was it because you were having a fit like this? 

“This,” Asger said quietly, “explains a lot about him, doesn't it.”

Bjarke gave a numb nod.

You sat in the lounge chair, ripping into your bottom lip as you clutched at your head. _It was okay_ , you tried to tell yourself. In a few moments, once you calmed down a little, a man with similar nightmares would be here to take you outside for air. You just needed to wait.

But as you sat in the empty lobby, waiting became a game that you were uneasy playing. Your shirt clung to your frame, and the tears in your eyes made your hair cling to your face. Your breathing was not slowing down. You felt as though at any moment you would run out of air in your lungs and they would collapse from the effort it took for you to breathe. Your body shook with every bit of effort, your skin glistening in the moonlight from the layer of sweat that had formed. 

The night was not welcoming to you, it never was. The night was cruel and brought back too many painful memories, but now you clung to this hour as though it would give you a release from your pain. Last night brought you a pale prince, and you longed for him to come again to offer you a breath of fresh air. But he was not here this time around, and waiting for him only panicked you more. Earlier today Bjarke could not figure you out. Couldn't dare grasp how you had somehow formed an attachment to a man so cruel, and now you were wondering the same.

How could you be wanting him to appear now and pull you from your thoughts when every other moment you fought so hard to stay in them? Every other moment you tried to stack brick on top of brick in order to avoid seeking companionship, but now, of all people, you sought a companion in Loki. Bjarke or Asger could not comprehend your fears. They didn't know your fears. It was the man who infuriated you most that was best at understanding them, even when you didn't speak of them. 

But now he was not here, and you felt like a fool for ever thinking that he would seek comfort in _you_. You thought that maybe he would come around again tonight, to talk about the happenings of his own nightmares. To breathe with you. To take you outside under the guise that he was helping you, even though you knew he needed it himself. But he wasn't here. You stomped your feet on the ground in frustration, your hands digging into the fabric of your pants. 

So much had happened today. So much that you didn't want. You were dismissed as a friend, reminded of the terrible abuse you regretted dealing to your parents, and caught in a nightmare once again. A nightmare that Asger and Bjarke had witnessed this time, and your stomach twisted when you realized the weakness that you had shown too much of today. They saw the book, the cloth, the loathing. Too much. They saw too much.

Your head shot up when you heard footsteps near the doorway, and you called Loki’s name in hopes he would help you. 

Your eyes locked onto Asger and Bjarke, and you averted your gaze as your voice failed you. Of course it wasn't Loki. It wasn't him, and now you had just revealed to Bjarke and Asger that he knew more of your nightmares than they did. You squeezed your eyes shut, prepared to be yelled at for trusting the sly prince more than them.

Nothing came.

You opened an eye, your vision blurred by your tears as the two men came over to you slowly, kneeling in front of you. 

“I am sorry we aren't who you are looking for right now,” Bjarke said quietly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “But we can help you too, if you just let us.” His expression was soft, his grip on your shoulder gentle and reassuring.

Asger placed his hand on your other shoulder, giving you a toothy grin in hopes it would maybe cheer you up. “I'm an ass, and he's nothing more than bark, but we are still capable of getting you anything you need right now.”

You were stunned. Couldn't form words. 

“Do you want to go outside?”

You nodded, slowly, letting the two men help you onto your feet and lead you to the door. When Asger attempted to guide you through the doorway with you still by his side, his head knocked into the door.

“Oh by the stars he named you correctly,” Bjarke breathed, getting Asger to let go of your shoulder. “You really are an ass. Watch where you’re walking and _open_ the door before trying to walk through it.”

Asger rubbed his head, muttering about how he just caught up in making you feel safe. You laughed quietly, and the two men whipped around to look at you. Tears were streaming down your face, but you laughed softly into your hands. They smiled, each man grabbing a shoulder as they finally managed to get through the door and outside. Asger stuck his leg out and Bjarke stumbled over it, and your laughter came only louder this time. 

“That's for calling me an ass, Bark,” Asger laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll say it again: this is a slow burn. And Loki isn't in every chapter but that's just because other characters are also important in Ove's development.
> 
> But obviously, Loki and Ove will be priority in future chapters. I just have some things to set up first. ;)
> 
> Thank you for comments and kudos! I loved hearing about how you all picture Ove in your mind.


	10. X

Bjarke and Asger had stayed up with you for a few hours, waiting until you felt comfortable enough to try and fall back asleep. That time came around three in the morning, and despite you asking repeatedly that they go to sleep before you, they both stayed up until you were fast asleep again. They had talked with you outside for a while, carefully choosing their words to navigate around the topic of your nightmares. Instead, Asger talked about the drinking games Thor played with them all, and how he was certain that you wouldn't be able to hold your all up against them with how little you were. You had laughed at that, all while boasting about how you could drink them into a drought. They insisted that you would die from alcohol poisoning after your second glass, and you almost weren't able to respond with anything witty. Maybe not the _second_ glass, you had said. But definitely after the fourth. 

Now that it was morning, however, you could tell that they were questioning their decision to stay up until you were asleep. They didn't regret it, as they had wanted to help you and still do, but now they were sluggish in their movements. You had learned to work through your exhaustion, and even as your legs ached from riding on Halvor’s back, you were still attentive enough to pay attention to your surroundings and stay upright on your horse. Bjarke, however, seemed to be having trouble with his balance.

“Sorry you missed your beauty sleep, Bjarke,” you apologized, shooting him a small grin as he rolled his eyes. You twisted Halvor’s reins around your hand nervously. “And thank you. Both of you. I needed that escape last night.”

Asger and Bjarke exchanged grins, Asger shrugging his shoulders as if it was no big deal. “Don't worry about it, Ove.”

You nodded with a small smile, but couldn't help but feel that last night they still had seen too much. Before leaving this morning, you had untied your brother’s cloth from your wrist and put it carefully back in your bag. You bookmarked the page you left off on in his book. They, thankfully, had not asked about either of the items, but you could hear the silent questions about where those items had come from, and why you held onto them. 

You were certain that they also had plenty of questions to ask about why you had called for Loki, of all people, last night when you were panicking. Bjarke was surely still bitter about how you wouldn't confide in him, and maybe now he was even angrier with you because he knew you talked to Loki about your nightmares. You don't know why you called out to Loki in the first place. Thinking back on it now, your face flushed. If the bastard had ever heard you call his name in such a way he never would let you live it down. It would be a constant reminder that you were somehow weaker than him, and you didn't want to deal with that. 

So why were you so weak? You had never called anyone for help after a nightmare before last night. You had never _ever_ let people see how your mind stripped you of your pride, or how your fears grappled with you. But last night you were willing to do so, and you didn't know why. Perhaps it was because you needed someone to confide in. You had never known anyone who could free you from your mind so easily with simply his company. You were foolish though. You didn't know why you thought he would come to check on you in the first place. Of course he wouldn't. 

“I'm going to go ask Prince Thor how far he expects us to be traveling today, and when the next battle is,” you spoke up finally, cutting into Asger and Bjarke’s joyful conversation abruptly. 

Asger huffed, knowing you hadn't been listening to them at all anyway. They had been picking on your size, waiting for you to chime back in with a snarky remark, but they could tell by your distant gaze that you were long gone. You heard his exasperation, but took no time to comment on it as you rode Halvor up to where Thor and Loki were. You fit your beast in between them, nodding your head to Thor to show respect. To Loki, however, you didn't even spare a glance.

“How long do you expect we will be riding for? And when is the next battle?” 

Thor was momentarily surprised by how straightforward you were, but upon stealing a glance at Loki’s disdain, he was reminded that you were always like this. You had never changed your ways since he first saw you spar, not even in the company of royalty. He admired that about you. While your stubbornness was something they could do without on most occasions, you had grit that some other warriors lacked.

“We won't be riding long,” he answered. “It should only be a few hours until we come across a presumed hiding spot of the barbarians.”

“And? Do you think the barbarian prince Fritjof will be there?” The question slipped from your mouth without very much thought, and you gripped your reins until your knuckles turned white to prevent you from asking much more.

“He could be, yes,” Thor said, but slowly shook his head. “Or he could not be. It is likely that that monster is commanding his army from afar. If that is the case, we will need to adjust our strategy accordingly.”

“Why not send a few soldiers in once we discover his location? Surely any other way and he would be too alert. But if we send only a few of our best, he won't have the time to prepare.”

Your response was a bark of sarcastic laughter from Loki. You whipped around to face him, giving him a full view of your contempt for him at the moment. 

“Do you intend on being one of those warriors to attack?” He asked you, that snake like smirk on his face taunting you as he held your gaze.

“Why not? I've proven my worth in spars and in battle. I am more than capable of being sent in.” You were not. Loki’s eyes dragged right along to your injured shoulder, making you self conscious of your injury. You knew he was right about it, even if you didn't know how he realized you had injured it again. Your shoulder was injured and you shouldn’t even be fighting at all. But despite knowing he was right, you held his gaze and quirked an eyebrow, silently challenging him to say something about your injury. 

“You are severely underestimating the intelligence of Fritjof. You, and any other warrior who could possibly be sent in alone, would be killed immediately. I doubt you’d even be able to step foot in his territory by yourself without being shot by an arrow on the spot.” 

“And you are, once again, severely underestimating my capabilities as a warrior,” you snapped back. You hated the way he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you. How he kept that sly smirk on his face. You much preferred him to go back to threatening you, or at least _genuinely_ smiling or laughing. 

“I am merely being honest, rather than wishfully thinking about an impossible outcome,” Loki replied, watching as his brother tried to decide when it would be appropriate for him to interject. 

The two of you made it quite awkward for him. His brother clearly did not have all that much resentment towards you, or at least not as much as he had in the very beginning of this journey. And you, quite clearly, were not at all intimidated by Loki. You spoke to him just like you spoke to your other comrades, and didn't bow your head when you were in his presence. That all confused Thor, and in this conversation it felt as though he was missing an important part of it. 

It was like the two of you were having a separate conversation that was completely unspoken, only communicated through your gazes. It, quite frankly, made him uncomfortable, and so he cleared his throat to get your attention back to him and his answer.

“I'm afraid I have to agree with my brother about this. It is far too dangerous to send in a smaller number of soldiers. We already have lost a great number due to Fritjof’s army,” Thor said, and rather than seeing your face fall, he saw it screw up in frustration. “We would have lost more if not for your efforts. You are a capable warrior, but none are capable enough to take down the barbarian prince alone.”

You nodded slowly. “Perhaps I misjudged him as too much of a prideful man then,” you said lowly. “If he weren’t a coward that hid behind his men, then plenty would be capable of slaying him alone.”

Thor smiled at you, and you could tell it was genuine. He liked your guts, your ability to speak your mind no matter the circumstances. “Aye, but unfortunately he is a coward.”

“A coward, but not a fool,” Loki spoke, and you almost groaned in annoyance if it weren't for Halvor doing so for you. You rustled the horse’s mane, pleased at his response. 

“That is quite funny. I do know a man who possesses both of those qualities,” you said with a cheerful smile.

Loki waved his hand, and when you found your mouth unable to move, you squirmed in your seat and waved your hands around frantically. You wanted so desperately to add onto your insult, and now the man used his magic to permanently shut you up. You fell back in your saddle, looking over at Thor as if the brother had control of Loki’s actions. Loki laughed at your pitiful attempts, and after a few minutes of you sitting with your arms crossed and with your eyes burning holes into his head, he released you of his magic and let you speak once more. And it didn't take long for you to open your mouth again. 

“I believe you just proved my point, Prince Loki.”

Between that remark and Thor’s boisterous laughter that followed, Loki regretted his decision of giving you your voice back. He raised his hand as though he was going to repeat his actions, and watched as your eyes widened and you pulled Halvor to walk to the other side of Thor, as if the large man could protect you from his magic. He lowered his hand with a small shake of his head, trying to hide the amusement that wanted to plaster itself on his face. He was about to comment on who the coward _really_ was out of the two of you, but he stopped as he heard noise coming from the distance.

“Brother, we are moving in on their hideout,” Loki reported, and you shot upright in your spot and moved to grab your mace and shield. The Prince watched as you placed your shield on your right arm rather than your left, and how you gripped your mace unsteadily in your other hand. He made no comment on it, but made note of the fact that your shoulder was still in poor condition. He was truly expecting you to be reckless today, and he had a feeling this may be the last of your battles. 

Thor gave an order for everyone to quiet down and stop the loud chatter, and the army went back to being solemn. Warriors around you gripped the reins of their horses like their lives depended on it. You could not understand the faces of fear you saw on certain faces, as you had never known Asgardian warriors to be fearful of a battle. Perhaps it was because they had had their first taste of battle against the barbarians, and they realized that Odin’s orders of only sending the strongest warriors _amongst men_ was rightfully called. 

You did not think so. Even if the barbarians were brutal to fight against, you would never wish for a war to be between only men. There were plenty of women you knew who would fight more valiantly than some of these men, and yet they had to stay back at their homes like they were helpless and weak. It infuriated you, to see the people around you now looking like they were going to cave in at the very sight of death. You were not one to do that, and hoped you never would fall that weak. 

Even with an injured shoulder, you intended on staring death in the eyes and daring him to try and take you from this world before you killed Fritjof. The Goddess of Death would not take you from this world until you were ready, and you were not. 

“I advise you to fight properly this time,” you whispered to Loki as you pulled Halvor away from the two brothers to move back to Asger and Bjarke. “Otherwise my insult on your cowardice will stand as it was.”

“And I advise you to be careful with that shoulder.” 

He watched your gaze falter as he once more called you out on your facade, but instead of lying about it this time, you nodded and agreed with him. As you rode off, you tested the weight of your mace in your left hand. It was odd, uncomfortable, and you weren't sure how you would be able to hold up with it in battle. 

“Have a nice conversation with the princes, eh?” Asger asked you, and you shrugged your shoulders as Halvor stepped in line with his horse. 

“As pleasant as talking about war could get, I suppose,” you said, and when Asger spoke again you were already tuning him out. Asger looked back to the front of the lineup, spotting Loki and Thor in the vanguard. There was no need to attempt talking to you anymore, as now you had all of your concentration on battle.

Adrenaline began pumping through your veins, and momentarily, you felt as though your injured shoulder would be just fine so long as your hatred blinded you from pain. You heard a shout from the distance. A warning that the Asgardian army was approaching. You smirked, tightening the straps of your shield around your arm and releasing Halvor’s reins. You dug your heels into the steed’s side, trusting both yourself and him to keep you upright without having to hold onto the reins. Halvor knew how and when to move, and if he bucked you were fully prepared to take it with ease and continue on foot. He would always be right beside you to lift you back up if need be, and so you had no need to worry about finding yourself stuck anywhere. 

“Come on, boy. I'll wash the blood from your pelt after this. Maybe even give you a nice massage.” Halvor snorted, finding your humor unnecessary in the moment. 

While continuing to prep yourself for battle by wrapping your mace’s loose leather around your wrist, a shout came from the left of you. You snapped your head in that direction, spotting a warrior ripping an arrow from his bicep. There was no time to dally on preparations anymore, and as you moved to face forward again, you spotted an arrow quickly soaring towards you. Your body acted on its own, back slamming against Halvor’s and shield coming up to protect your face. The arrow smashed into the dull metal, and the pumping of your heart reminded you of how close it had been to smashing into your forehead instead. You pushed yourself back up, flinging the broken arrow onto the ground. 

It was a nice attempt of murdering you. But unfortunately for the barbarian who shot the arrow, it only made you watch their every move as they moved to shoot another. You lifted your chin, raised your mace with your hand, and pointed it at him as Halvor galloped in his direction. In a matter of seconds, you deflected another arrow and came within inches of the man’s face. You swung your mace into his chin, using your other arm to pull his bow and sack of arrows from his body. 

You slid your mace into its sheath, testing to see if your body’s endurance and abilities were better suited with a bow rather than your mace. You picked an arrow out of your bag, but when you tested it your shoulder was strong enough to pull back the string, you found it was still too weak. You cursed, but did not give up as you bit the arrow in your teeth and used your good arm to stretch the string in front of you. With one eye shut, you aimed your bow at a barbarian about to strike Fiske, and released the arrow from your teeth.

You watched as it sunk into the chest of the barbarian, stunning him just long enough for Fiske to land the killing blow. It disappointed you that Fiske did not see who his savior was, but the feeling withered away when a barbarian came up from behind you. Before you could toss the bow away fast enough to grab your mace, Halvor bucked and sent you flying into the horse’s neck. Your horse kicked out at the barbarian man, effectively smashing his nose in. 

“By Hel, Halvor. You nearly broke my face too!” You shouted at the horse, steadying yourself on his back again.

You lifted your head towards the barbarians, assessing just how many more would need to die. The battle taking place around you blurred, movements only sticking out to you if they intended on coming near you. You sunk your mace into countless more heads, your arm beginning to strain with the effort of doing something so foreign for it. 

You only posed one question to yourself during battle, repeatedly asking yourself if you had seen Fritjof yet. And by some odd miracle, when you asked it for the fifteenth time, you spotted a red horse emerging from the back of the barbarian warriors. The world around you slowed, your ears no longer picking up on the screams that came from every angle. Your mind pounded painfully, your heart beating against your chest as though it was trying to escape from you. 

The barbarian on the red horse rode confidently, furs covering him where his armor did not. His dark hair was cropped on his head, and he wore the blood of his enemies smeared on the side of his face with a sickening amount of pride.

 _This_ was him.

This was the man that killed your brother twelve years ago.

This was the man you swore to kick into the ground. 

“You bastard!” Your scream tore through the rumblings of hooves and the shouts of men, and as you stared at the monster so far in front of you, you were unaware that Loki was watching you carefully.

You were going to make a careless decision in a matter of moments. The Liesmith could tell from the red fury that covered your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for 60+ kudos! It always amazes me that people actually like to read what I write. This is my first time writing a story in no joke maybe six years, but it's reassuring to know that I've still somehow improved! 
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> Of course, donations are something extra and special, and you do not need to feel pressured to do so. Comments and kudos and just knowing that people read my work make me just as thrilled. 
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> As always, thank you for reading and commenting!


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry at all.

Fritjof located the source of the shouting and tilted his head as he looked at you, a toothy grin spreading across his face. He didn’t need to know who you were to know that he had somehow destroyed a part of your life, and a bubbling sense of pride filled his lungs. His head fell back as he laughed, wanting more of your anger to reach his ears from across the battlefield. But when he lifted his head back up, he was met with nothing but silence from you. 

You had not moved since initially seeing and shouting at Fritjof. His grin had made you cut back your shouts. Fear gripped at your mind and attempted to pull you under the murky darkness, threatening to numb your movements. You began to sweat, your hands shaking as you couldn't peel your eyes from the man, the monster, that killed your brother. This couldn't happen. You were _not_ a coward. You had told too many that you were not and so you could not fall back on your word now. This is what you had wanted. Your opportunity was being presented to you on a silver platter, but now even your stomach threatened to betray you. 

An arrow flew towards your head, and your mind halted as you moved to dodge. Your shield was not quick enough. Your eyes closed, the arrow brushing past the edge of the metal. Your breath stopped, but when you opened your eyes again you found that the arrow had been stopped in its path mere millimeters before piercing you. An invisible force field made it tumble to the ground, and you heard Loki’s voice call to you from nearby. Only, he hadn't opened his mouth to speak to you. 

_Pull yourself out of your head before you are killed, Ove._

You could have screamed in confusion as Loki’s voice rang in your mind, but you knew now was not the time to question the extent of his magic capabilities. You didn't have time to think about how it was a little contradictory to tell someone to get out of their head while speaking _in their head_. You made a mental note to talk about the hypocrisy of that with him later. But for now, you silently nodded your head as a thank you.

Only when your eyes fully looked at the pale prince, did you notice that his back was open and vulnerable. Barbarians were attacking him from the front, and his body was straining under the efforts of killing them. He was slow, lagging in his movements. It made you worried as you saw arrows being pointed at his back. You wondered if he saw them, or if he'd even have the time to protect himself. You heard Fritjof bark an order, and your attention was brought back to him. You rubbed your forehead free of sweat, preparing to kick Halvor in the side and run full force towards the monster. 

But out of the corner of your eyes you saw the strings of bows being pulled back, and aimed at Loki’s back. You saw the prince falter as he took down more barbarians. Time stopped short when you realized his exhaustion was preventing him from fighting at his best. Your revenge was being presented to you, but if you took it you may end with a comrade dead because of your negligence.

Kill Fritjof, or protect the prince? Kill the monster that murdered your brother and destroyed your family, or protect the prince that could free you from your self loathing? 

Your nose wrinkled. This was not a decision you wanted to be making. 

You leapt from Halvor’s back, running in the direction of your choice. Arrows were released from hands, and with every step your feet sunk further into mud. There was too long of a distance for you to cover by foot, but you did not want to put Halvor in harm's way. The beast ran behind you, and you were comforted with the thought of him caring so much. 

While Halvor was on your side, time was not. It never was.

You reached your choice, shouted for him, and lifted your shield in front of your body. Arrows slammed into metal, your feet sunk into mud and your back met with his. You were not able to fight the way you wanted to with an unfamiliar grip on your mace. Your shield slid to the floor, and you tossed your mace to your injured arm. 

With a cry, you swung the weapon into the barbarians threatening to approach, and with another cry, your shoulder seethed with pain. You swung blindly, hell bent on protecting the prince behind you that was tiring because of his magic. You, however, were tiring too. You swung, desperately trying to ignore the pain as you killed the men threatening you and the prince.

In a second, you failed to notice the strings being pulled taut. 

In another, you didn't see the arrows.

But in one more, you felt them.

Your mace fell to the floor as you stumbled back, three arrows embedded in your stomach and side. Your legs were the first to fail you, slipping out from underneath you and collapsing into the mud. Your vision was the second, your surroundings blurring until you were unsure of who it was surrounding you. Enemy or comrade? Your ears failed you next, shouts becoming incomprehensible drones. Somewhere along the line, your voice stopped coming. The shouts of pain and agony stopped coming from your throat, and your breathing became labored. Slow. Agonizingly slow. 

Hands grabbed you, but you couldn't tell who they belonged to and you didn’t have the strength to fight them. Your eyes were closing, your mouth barely open as your breathing became dry heaving. A voice called for you to stay awake, but sleep seemed so comforting that you let it drag you down. 

“A fool, a complete and utter fool,” Loki muttered, holding your upper body off of the ground as you went completely limp in his arms. 

Halvor was attempting to nip at the prince’s face, hooves slamming down in despair. There was no calming the angry beast as Loki held you carefully, because Halvor did not trust you with the prince. Asger was the first to run over, Bjarke following close behind. 

“Let go of him,” Asger shouted, chest puffed with rage as he glared at Loki, assuming it was him that caused your unconsciousness.

“I let go of him and he _dies_ ,” Loki hissed, not taking his eyes off of you for a second. He ignored the horse, ignored Asger’s questioning, and just focused on pushing his energy into you through his hands. “He’ll ride with me back to camp,” he said after a moment’s thought, carefully lifting you in his arms as he stood. Your body was limp in his arms, and Bjarke and Asger could hardly stand to look.

“We should take the arrows out now,” Bjarke said quietly, picking up your mace off of the ground as he turned and watched the rest of the barbarians retreat. 

“We can't. He’ll bleed out. I will keep him alive until we get to our next camp.” A partial lie. Loki didn't think that you would have anymore of a risk of bleeding out if they took out the arrows than you did while they were still embedded in your skin. But taking out the arrows would mean exposing your bandaged chest. 

Loki didn't know why he was doing this for you. He wanted to tell himself that it was because you saved his life, but if that was the case he would keep you alive, but allow the others to know your secret. But he didn't want others to know your secret. He wanted to keep it selfishly to himself.

“Hold him and help me lift him onto my horse when I am ready,” Loki said, handing you carefully off to Asger, who looked like he didn't want to hand you back. Loki mounted his horse, holding out his arms to take your body back. “Give him back, you boar. I'm _healing_ him.”

Asger did so, reluctantly. He watched as Loki positioned you so that your back laid against his lap, and he carefully wrapped an arm around your shoulders to keep you on his horse as they rode. Because of the way he was holding you, he was able to pay careful attention to your breathing. You were, but barely. It was labored, and your body shook with the effort of each breath. But at least you were breathing. Loki held you close, constantly pushing his magic into you in hopes that you would have a better chance of waking up. He could stop the bleeding temporarily, but his body was growing exhausted with every minute that passed. 

Your body was not doing its job, that much was clear to see to everyone. The arrows embedded in your waist were not tipped with poison, and any healthy Asgardian would have been able to keep going. You were different. He could feel it as he worked to stop your bleeding. Your body was failing at keeping you together, and Loki knew it was from a combination of your lack of restraint as well as your exhaustion. He didn't know if your mind had trapped you in another nightmare, but from your current streak of sleepless nights, he figured it was likely. Loki didn't want to ask your friends about it. From the looks on their faces they had no trust in him, and he doubted they would tell him the truth about it anyway. He moved a hand to your forehead, concerned about how hot you were becoming. When he removed his palm it was covered in sweat, and rather than being disgusted, he worried that your body would give in at any moment, or if you were perhaps having a nightmare even now. 

“Brother, how far are we from our next stop?” Loki asked, finally removing his eyes from you to look to Thor. 

“Soon. It's only a few minutes away now with the pace we are going.” Thor looked at you, grimacing at your poor condition. “Why haven't you removed the arrows from him?”

“If I do, he’ll bleed out. His body is doing a piss poor job of keeping itself together. I'll remove them once we get to camp, when he won't be getting jostled around so much.” And when he could keep you out of sight from the others. He wondered how he could do so with your friends. They seemed adamant on keeping you in their sights, and he was sure that they would protest to having you be kept with only someone they thought of a monster until your recovery. 

For the rest of the ride, Asger and Bjarke glared daggers into his back. He could sense it. He could feel their loathing dripping from them in his direction, but it did not unsettle him. It was something he was used to. And with you in his arms he had something far more important to focus on. In the minutes that passed, you were only getting worse. He needed to get you out of sight and remove the arrows, find a way to stitch you together while also keeping his magic flowing through you.

“Someone set up a tent,” Loki demanded when they reached the next campsite, and he carefully laid you on his horse’s back as he slid off. He reached back up to grab you, not believing that you would be able to last long without him constantly healing you. He held you carefully, trying to avoid looking down at your face. You were not peaceful, even when comatose. The crease between your brows was prominent, and your eyes were clenched shut as though opening them would frighten you more. You had not cooled down, either. 

Waiting for the tent to be put up made Loki impatient. If he weren’t focusing his magic on you, he would have set the tent up himself. He wanted you in a tent, he wanted the tent shut, and he wanted to get you healed as fast as he could before anyone could notice that you were a woman. 

“Prince Loki, Bjarke is trained in nursing, he could help,” Asger said, not fearful of the prince while you were injured. Bjarke walked up beside him, anxiously shifting from foot to foot.

“I don't need help,” Loki snapped. “You would just get in the way. The boy will be fine so long as everyone just keeps their distance.”

“You better not do anything, Liesmith,” Asger said lowly, turning away and letting Loki take care of you. 

Loki much preferred the insults coming from your mouth rather than his. He rested you on the blankets in the tent, making sure it was tightly closed before he started working on removing your top. He supposed it was best that you were comatose, because when he went to touch the arrows, he could feel how deeply embedded they were. You would be more than lucky if they had not pierced anything important, but luck was never on your side anyway. Your two biggest enemies were time and luck, and you needed both right now. 

The Liesmith pressed one hand against your chest, pushing enough magic into you that would hopefully keep you asleep for the most painful part of the process. With his free hand, he carefully tugged each arrow from your flesh, cringing at the revolting sounds they made as they left you. He dropped each dripping arrow to the side, evaluating how deep each wound went. The arrow closest to your hip bone was fortunately shallow, but the other two near your navel were problems. They had pierced deep, and it was no surprise considering the fuss they put up when he tried to remove them.

“All this because you thought I couldn't handle myself in battle,” Loki muttered, fully peeling the rest of your shirt from you. You had never looked so fragile as you did now. With one more push, with one more minute of you left alone without Loki’s magic pumping through you, you would pass. Your body would stop grappling with death, and you would be left in a grave without ever having completed your revenge. 

Loki began stitching your wounds, too weak to fully heal them himself with his magic. With each careful prick of the needle his eyes flicked up to yours, checking to see if the pain was getting through to you. You didn't twitch with each pull of the thread, and this gave Loki a grateful break from having to expend too much of his energy. If you could lay through the pain of stitches, he could focus on stopping the bleeding instead. 

Once he disposed of the needle, he took a moment to assess his handiwork. His stitches and magic halted most of the bleeding, but now you were still left looking like quite the wreck. Your bandages and skin were bloody, and now that he had the time to fully look you over, he caught sight of the poor job you did in bandaging your shoulder. It was as though you wrapped your arm and thought that the mere touch of a bandage would hold it in place. It was a pathetic attempt at holding your body together, and it was no wonder that you were so incapable of healing yourself like a healthy Asgardian.

It was a wonder you survived for this long. You were so ignorant about taking care of yourself that Loki pondered upon the idea that you barely even knew how to cook for yourself. On second thought, he was sure that you didn't know how to do that either. He thought about bandaging your arm up properly, but decided against it when he realized how spiteful you would be if you found out that he had removed your bandages to do so. He figured when you woke up, he could offer then, or at least make you do it properly yourself with his instructions. There was no reason for you to go around with a messy bandage job around your arm. 

For now though, he could at least put fresh bandages over your wounds. He pressed a wet cloth over them, carefully dabbing to decrease your chance of an infection. He wrapped the bandages carefully around your waist, securing them tightly with a butterfly clip. When you woke up, he would have to remind you to be careful with how you move. Knowing you, you would immediately try to move around and ruin all of the work he put into stitching you up.

Loki sat himself beside you, keeping a hand on your chest at all times. He didn't want to stop healing you, not until you opened your eyes at least. He was exhausted, visibly slowing down and entirely ready to let his nightmares take over his sleep if only it meant a moment’s rest. But now was not a time that he could sleep, and so he conjured up a book to occupy his mind. He flipped through the pages, finding himself struggling to be able to focus on the words written. This was very much unlike him, and you were the cause of the breaking of his character. He could not focus while you squirmed in your sleep and mumbled about pain and your brother. 

“Is it at all possible for you to keep quiet?” He asked you, knowing full well that you would not be able to answer him. He let out a deep sigh, irritated more by your sleeping form than he was by when you were awake. At least when you are awake, you are capable of conversation, of witty replies and of bitter sarcasm. When you were asleep you were of no entertainment whatsoever.

Nor would you be after a while of you being awake. You were of no use to the army now that you were so injured. You would be honorably discharged; sent back to whatever home you had to go to. But with one look back at the determination you wore on a day to day basis, he knew that you would not go home easily, or maybe not at all. You were a trickster yourself, and if you could pose as a man you could easily find a way to seek your revenge on your own. Or you would try and act as though your injuries didn't hurt at all. But beneath whatever mask you would put on this time, Loki would still be able to see the truth in your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not at all the end for reader. But how do you think she'll cope with her wounds?
> 
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> Please don't feel pressured to donate, as your comments and kudos are already greatly appreciated. 
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> ko-fi.com/seekingvalhalla


	12. XII

The sun was beginning to set when you finally woke up. You were groggy, your vision was blurry, but most importantly, you were panicked the moment you realized there was pressure on your chest that wasn't making contact with cloth. The pressure wasn't uncomfortable, and in fact you almost didn't want it to leave because it felt _warm_. Comforting. Still squinting to see, you grasped the object applying the pressure to your chest, blinking rapidly when you felt that it was a hand. On your chest. Meaning whoever it was had perfect view of your bandages. You shot upright, dropping the hand from yours and crying out in pain.

Loki sat up, pushing his hands on your shoulders to get you lay back down. “You’re going to ruin my hard work if you do that again,” he mumbled, watching as you stared up at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“I–I injured my chest a while ag—”

“Are you an idiot?” He asked, raising a hand to silence you as you stammered about for an answer. “You are; I'm not quite sure why I would even question it. No one else knows. I've kept you in this tent, away from prying eyes.”

You couldn't find words. You felt exposed, like now Loki and everyone else would be able to look right through you. Tears started threatening to show, and you tried to gulp them down in big breaths. A long silence passed between the two of you, as Loki waited for you to find your voice. The longer he was silent, the more your whole face became red. You were burning in your spot, both with shame and self consciousness. 

“Are you, are you planning on telling anyone?” 

Loki shook his head, noting to himself that you looked quite pitiful when trying to hold back tears. “No, but unless you plan on somehow healing yourself in a few hours, you will be discharged because of your injuries.”

“No!” You sat up again, ignoring the pain in your stomach as you grabbed his sleeve. “I-I can't go back until Fritjof is dead.”

“You couldn't even wrap your shoulder properly. You should be going home before you get yourself killed.”

The grip you had on his sleeve loosened, and you stared down at your bloody torso. You wanted to tell him how badly you wished to be killed rather than go back to Asgard as a failure. You would never be able to see your parents if you failed to kill Fritjof. You opted to not tell him. You felt that doing so would only reveal more insecurities rather than make you come off as brave. 

“Why are you keeping my secret?” You asked quietly, rubbing dried blood from your lips. “The Lying Prince never struck me as someone to not only keep treason secret, but also to help heal that same person.”

It was surprising to see Loki lost for words for a moment. But when he found them, they contained a shocking amount of honesty. “Because if it weren't for your brash behavior, those arrows would have pierced me instead of you.” 

He hated the prideful smirk that was crawling onto your face.

“But that still doesn't change the fact that _I_ would have been fine. My body would have been able to heal. Even without having magic, your body should be able to handle this better than it is. So why isn't it?”

His question made you want to climb into your skin to hide. “I’ve never been able to heal like a regular Asgardian. My body isn't capable of it. It takes too long, always has, and now because of my impatience, I push myself to just ignore it,” you answered, fingers brushing against the bandages as you avoided looking at the prince. 

“Your lack of sleep probably has to do with it as well,” Loki said, moving your hands away from your bandages as you started to try and unclip them so you could look at the damage done. He held your hands at your side, his grip tight but not painful. “Where did your courage go?”

You nearly swallowed your own tongue in response to his question. “I miss your bitter sarcasm,” you snapped, overcompensating for the fact that you felt far inferior to him while he had perfect view of your injuries. You still couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eyes though. 

He kept his grip on your wrists, and you felt a surge of warmth through your stomach again. Even while trying to intimidate you, he was still exerting himself to heal your wounds.

“Sarcasm is best used when the other is capable of forming a genuine response. You can't even seem to look at me right now. Do you really change so much when you're no longer disguised as a man?”

“Maybe so.” Finally, your gaze met his, and you made sure your glare could bore holes into his head. “But you cannot say that you don't change in the same way when you are discovered to be gentler than you seem,” you quipped, lifting your hands and raising your eyebrows at him.

Finally, his smirk made an appearance for the first time since your waking. “I am only doing this so that you don't ruin my hard work,” he tried, and your eyes rolled so far to the back of your head that you could have been perceived as dead. 

“Sometimes, you are an incredibly terrible liar.” 

“Then enlighten me; why am I bothering to heal you?”

You paused, and the quirk of your upper lip gave away your confusion at his question. You didn't really know why. “Maybe because I’m a more valuable warrior than you'd like to admit. Or because I’m similar to you.” 

“Why would you wish to mark yourself as being similar to _me_?” He was perplexed, and you realized that he probably had a million reasons as to why being similar to him was a negative thing. You had your own.

“Well I'm certainly not similar to anyone else in this army. Not The Mighty Thor, not Asger, not Bjarke, and certainly not Fiske. Out of everyone I've had the pleasure, and _displeasure_ , of talking to, you are the only one who I could relate to. But if you do not see why, then I do not wish to tell you.”

Loki’s lips formed a thin line. “Do you not realize that saying you are similar to me means you are calling yourself akin to a monster?”

You laughed, but it was full of bitterness. “I've been called such by plenty. The only way we differ in that is that I try not to believe them. You seem to accept the title.”

At that, Loki released your wrists from his grip, and you winced at the return of the pain. Seeing your wince and realizing what he did, he placed a hand back on your arm. “I accept the title because it is fitting,” he said, frowning as you shook your head.

“I don't believe it is,” you said, tapping him on the hand that he placed back on your shoulder. “The rumors I’ve been told about your murderous intent aren’t very convincing. Nor is the rumor that you killed your past lover when she failed to call you Prince.” You paused, snickering quietly to yourself. “But the only reason I don't believe that one is because I don't see why anyone would ever want to be your lover.”

That was a risky statement. But most things you said to Loki could be considered anything but safe. The risk paid off, and your reward was his laughter ringing in your ears again. 

“You are truly insufferable,” Loki breathed, though his eyes and chest betrayed him as they revealed his mirth. “Besides, is it not you that suggested all I needed to do was ask to be able to sleep next to you?”

“That was a joke, I would rather not do anything with you that involves such things,” you said quickly, your face uncomfortably hot. “Anyway,” you said, quickly wanting to dismiss his suggestive question, “when do you think I will be okay enough to move around again?”

He answered your question by moving his hand away from your shoulder. The pain returned, and your stomach sank in worry. If you couldn't fight—. By the stars, the very thought of not being able to fight made you feel sick. 

“Do you know of anything I can do?” You asked, sure that the man would have a solution you were blind to do.

“Find a healer, I suppose. I am not knowledgeable in healing. I can do it, yes, but there are people out there who are more likely to rid of the issue entirely. Of course, that would be expensive to do, and would still take more time than you have.”

“I have no more money,” you whispered, feeling stupid to have wasted your last coins on a necklace for a woman you haven't spoken to in years. “Nor do I have the time.”

Loki truly sympathized with you in this moment. Your goal was being ripped from your grasp entirely, and you felt like your destiny was crumbling around you. He had a goal as well, and all too many times it had been shoved in his face that it was never to happen; not as long as the obstacles in his way remained. 

“We are remaining here for a day more before riding into the next village. Others are injured, and we need to drop them off somewhere anyway. Perhaps then you can look for a healer who would be willing to help for free,” he informed you, watching as your disheartened expression shifted into one of determination. “But even then, you would most likely have to inform them of your full situation.”

“What’s my full situation?” You weren’t getting at what he was implying. 

He sighed. “Being a woman, being unable to properly heal, being a complete dimwit and not _letting yourself_ heal, being far too stubborn. Shall I go on?”

You wrinkled your nose. “No, no I think that was more than enough, thank you. I will find a way to work it out. Perhaps I'll find the extra money someway.” He raised his eyebrows at you suggestively, and a growl formed in the back of your throat. “ _Not_ in that way, you complete idiot.”

Loki chuckled, but rather than let you think too much about your future predicament, he brought up a much more current one:  
“You should bandage your shoulder properly. I would have done it, but I figured you would prefer me not to.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed, nodding your head. “How do I do it? I've broken my leg before but even then I ignored it.”

The sheer amount of bafflement that crossed his face was a sight to see. “You are something else, that is for sure,” he muttered, and but nonetheless conjured up new bandages and a sling. “First, you should put on new bandages over your chest. They’re worn out.”

You nodded, taking the bandages from him and making a quick gesture with your hand to get him to look away. He did so, and you quickly undid your bandages. As soon as the restraints were gone, you felt you could breathe more freely. Too bad it couldn't last. You quickly shook your head, carefully pushing your chest down with the bandages and clasping them tightly. 

“You’re good to turn around again,” you said quietly, and when he did you avoiding looking at him. 

“Do you have another shirt?”

“What's wrong with my old one?” You clicked your tongue. “Nevermind. Holes, blood, figured it out myself. No, that was the only one I had.”

“How did you only have one shirt?”

“Don't mock me like that, having clothing choices wasn't quite my main priority when packing for this.”

Loki muffled his irritated groan. “I will get you one of mine, then.” In a second, he held a new shirt in his hand. And no matter how many times he conjured up an item, you were still surprised each time. “It won't fit you properly, but it will probably fit you better than your friends’ clothes would.”

You took the shirt from him with a silent thank you, and you unbuttoned it down the front. You silently praised him for getting a button down shirt rather than one you would have to pull over your head. This way, you could carefully slip each sleeve on without moving your injured shoulder around too much, or the rest of your battle worn body. When the shirt was fully buttoned, you rolled the sleeves so that they wouldn't hang down past your hands. You looked like a child in his clothing, and while your embarrassment was already present, Loki only made it worse as he tried to hold back his amused laughter. 

“Stop laughing at me and help me fix my shoulder,” you muttered, trying to pay no attention to how soft his shirt was. Your other shirt was scratchy, dirty, smelled like shit. But this was truly a shirt fit for people of royal status. You thought it didn't suit you. 

“Let me do the rest.” It wasn’t much of a suggestion of help, more like a command. He would not accept any other response except for compliance. So you quietly let him put your arm in the sling, and wrap it around your neck.

“This thing is so uncomfortable.” 

“Are the only words from your mouth complaints?” 

“In this moment, yes.” 

“Well then the moment is over.”

You squinted at him. “What type of dismissal is that?” You asked, and he reminded you of your complaining with a pointed look. “Okay, thank you, Lying Prince. For everything you’ve done for me today, and in the past.” You pursed your lips at the realization of what you had let slip from your mouth. 

“What did I do for you in the past?”

“Stuff, okay? Just stuff.” He said nothing. Just stared at you expectantly. You whistled, trying to ignore him. Until a minute passed and you grew antsy in your spot. “The blanket,” you lied. More silence. “By Hel, you could drive me to my grave just from your silent gaze.” You swallowed. Not the way you wanted that sentence to come out, but rather than make a snide comment about it, he stayed silent again. “The night in the inn. When you brought me outside. That helped. A lot.”

He gave a nod, slowly. Agonizingly slowly. He was still silent, and it made you wonder if he was looking for something else. 

He wasn't.

“That night was an escape for myself as well,” he said after a while. “The nightmares are why you are so weak, are they not?”

“I don't know. I guess. The night before battle was rough. I felt like I was going to die.”

Loki felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't come downstairs after his own nightmares that night. He didn't want to admit his weakness again. Instead, he kept his attention on your dreams. “Do you usually have them every night?” 

“That's what I don't understand. I've only had them every night starting the first day of recruitment. Before they only came every now and then.” Of course, you had your theories about why. You were near people you cared about now. It would make sense that your dreams would want to torture you about that.

“Your friends,” Loki stated, and the way he could look right through you bothered you.

“Why do you assume you have all of the answers?” 

“Because I know you are aware that that answer was correct. There wasn't any assumption involved,” Loki said. 

“Then why do you try and read me when you won't let me read you?” You tried, annoyed that he could point out your weaknesses whilst you couldn't do so with his. If he just opened up a little, you felt that maybe both of your problems could be shared. 

“You are right too often for my own liking.”

That was not an answer you had expected. You had expected him to grow defensive, to call you insufferable again. But maybe he was growing to tolerate you. 

“Let’s make a deal then,” you said, turning your head towards him. “For every time you question me, I get to question you. And we have to be honest about it, Liesmith. We each get one rejection. Every other question we have to answer. I also won't be able to initiate the questioning. Only you.”

Your proposal struck him as funny. It was not something he wanted to agree to, and yet he wanted to know more about you. 

“You have a deal,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fairly light hearted chapter after the mess that Ove caused for herself last time.
> 
> What do you think is going to happen with the deal they created?
> 
> I have a Ko-Fi for those who would like to donate/commission me for a one shot. Check out the link for information about it:
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/seekingvalhalla
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	13. XIII

It was late by the time Asger and Bjarke both decided that they needed to see how you were doing. They had both settled on ignoring the bastardly prince if he chose to refuse to let them see you, as they didn't know why he was keeping you hidden in the first place.

“Do you think it has something to do with what happened the other night?” Asger asked, eyes narrowing at the tent ahead of them.

“You mean how Ove called out for Loki?” 

“Well, yeah. That and how the two of them seem to be talking regularly.”

Bjarke tilted his head. He truly couldn't figure out why Loki was all of a sudden protective of you. All things considered, Bjarke liked to consider himself one of your closest companions, and so he didn't see why he shouldn’t be allowed to see you when you were injured. He could have helped. Loki had his magic, but Bjarke surely had more qualifiable skills when it came to nursing. But no, Loki’s gaze had darkened every time they tried to set foot near the tent, and every time he turned them away with malice in his voice. 

“Do you think Loki swings in, uh, in that way?”

Bjarke blanched. “Asger, are you asking me if I think that Loki wants to make a lover out of Ove?” He asked, not even needing the nod of clarification from Asger before he let out a booming laugh. “You have got to be kidding me. No, no, and I don't think that Ove would ever let that happen.”

“It was merely an idea,” Asger murmured.

When they approached the tent, they both stood hesitantly near the entrance, shocked into silence when they heard laughter coming from the inside. Coming from Loki.

“He is capable of laughter?” Bjarke whispered in confusion. As soon as the words left his mouth, the laughter ended.

They heard you tell Loki to ‘open the goddamn tent so they can see I'm alive’ and a few seconds later Loki flapped open the cloth door, a sour look on his face. He stepped out of the tent, looking back at you as if to tell you that he didn't approve. You ignored his gaze, and anxiously shifted in your spot so that you could look at Asger and Bjarke. The men were uncomfortably silent, so you cleared your throat.

“I'm alive?” You suggested, watching as Bjarke and Asger showed anything but the emotion you wished for them to show. They stared at you in confusion, and you wanted to ask if they were upset by the news of you being alive rather than dead. “Right, well, glad to see you two are thrilled about this.”

When they still didn't respond, you picked up one of the bloodied arrows and tossed it in their direction. Both were pulled from their thoughts as they cringed in disgust. 

“Sorry,” Bjarke apologized, looking over your form with a frown. “It’s just surprising to see you looking like...this.” He gestured towards you with his hands.

“I look like shit, I know. Kind of happens when you’ve been pierced by three arrows and have a dislocated shoulder.”

This conversation was turning out to be much more uncomfortable than you had anticipated. The longer Asger and Bjarke looked over you, the more you wished to hide your head in shame. You tugged at the bottom of Loki’s shirt, knowing that they were most likely looking at that suspiciously as well. It didn't suit you. Of course the item was baggy on your form, but the luxury cloth and small embroidered patterns around the hem were even more foreign against your skin. Not to mention the article of clothing practically seeped with marks of Loki. The cloth was a dark emerald green, and the embroidery was a gorgeous gold. It was similar to the fabrications of his war uniform, and so there was no denying that this was indeed Loki’s shirt. 

“Stop staring,” you snapped, growing angrier with each second their eyes lingered where you didn't want them to. “I have no other clothing, so Loki lent me a shirt. I'll find another one once we reach the next village. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you kept your eyes elsewhere.”

“Right, sorry. It's still surprising for me to think of Loki as _kind_ in any way though,” Asger said quickly, not wanting to be at the wrong end of your wrath. “I, to be entirely truthful thought that this might be the end of it all. Bjarke had to reassure me that you’re too tough to let a few arrows stop you for good though. It's good to see that you are your normal self.”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, Bjarke cut in: “We didn't know what to expect coming over here. The Liesmith kept you in this tent like you were some sort of prisoner.”

“He was healing me,” you told them, trying to come up with a lie that would appease them. It wasn't as though you could tell them the truth about why he had kept you hidden from their view. “I’m sure it takes a lot of concentration. He is tired from the battle as well, I'm sure he just wanted to help me in peace and quiet.”

“Well that didn't stop him from snapping in anger at anyone who even asked about your state,” Asger muttered, and you could hear the malice in his voice. 

You didn't understand the two men in front of you when it came to their opinion on Loki. Asger and Bjarke always seemed kind hearted (Bjarke a little more so), and never had you heard them talk poorly about someone other than Fiske or Loki. Fiske, you thought, deserved the rough treatment. You had grown to learn that Loki did not. Was it their protectiveness over you that caused them to be so brash towards the prince? Or was it just the influence of all of the rumors and gossip they had heard? 

“Were you two not the men who approached me, even after I had been called a monster by others?”

At that, Bjarke and Asger seemed to be struggling with what to say in response. 

“You were called a monster for only a few days. Prince Loki has been called a monster for years, Ove,” Asger said finally, and you sent him a glare. 

“And I have been too. You just haven't heard it because I am not someone who is known. I implore you to just _speak_ to him at least once, or at least trust my judgement. I am not one to deal with those who have a lack of a character.”

“But you were the one who told Loki he was a coward when he did not do his part during the first battle.”

Asger’s words located your weakness instantly. He was right. Everything you had initially said to Loki called him out as someone who was severely lacking character. You didn't want to tell them that your mind had changed once realizing that his lack of character stemmed more from his own view of himself than from anything else. 

“Yes, and he has proven himself to be the opposite of what I initially thought. If Fiske would like to do that as well, I would gladly give him the opportunity to do so. Loki has already done that.”

“Have you been defending my character this whole time, Ove?” Loki asked, and you rolled your eyes at the coy grin on his face.

Asger and Bjarke carefully shifted aside from the tent entrance, paling at the sight of the prince. How much had he listened to? But when Bjarke searched Loki’s face for malice, the prince was only looking at you. He had called you by your name too, which was not something the two were not used to. Their eyes trailed down to his hands as Loki reached out a dinner bowl for you. 

“It's disgusting as always,” Loki said, but you graciously took the bowl from him anyway. 

“Maybe I wouldn't have to defend it if you would just be nice for a change,” you remarked as you took a bite of your dinner, frowning at the bland gunk. The food served at the inn was a luxury compared to this. 

Loki’s response was a hum, and finally he turned to Asger and Bjarke. “As you are now aware, your friend is alive, and I did not do anything to hurt him as you all had said I would.”

Asger twitched with irritation. “You have our thanks, Prince Loki,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Your coughing interrupted their standoff. In the midst of their silent argument, you had breathed in a bit too much porridge and now found yourself in a coughing fit. Your chest heaved with the effort of trying to stop, and you left the porridge bowl at your side as you covered your mouth with your hand. When the three men looked to see if you were okay, you quickly waved their concerns off. You were fine, just needed to stop your body from racking so that your stomach would quit clenching.

When you had calmed down, you moved your hand away from your mouth. You knit your brows at the red specks that covered your hand, and you quickly tried to move it up your sleeve so that the others wouldn't see. Now you were truly thankful that Loki’s shirt was longer on you, because it gave you an ample opportunity to hide what you had just discovered. Only, all three of your comrades had noticed the blood on your hand, and the blood at the corners of your mouth. Loki was the first to speak about it, not letting Asger or Bjarke do so before him.

“Did you decide you wanted both hands to be of no use?” He asked, forehead creased from how far he raised his eyebrows at you. He watched you struggle with your answer. You looked to the side, your eyebrows furrowed. Everything was just how it always was when you fought with your mind. “Show me your hand.”

Again, with that commanding voice. 

“It’s no big deal, I’ve had a sore throat all week,” you lied, but showed him your hand anyway. 

“Ove, you need more medical attention, or at least more rest. There is no way I could allow you to ride your horse anywhere like this. You can barely even sit up, and now you’re coughing up blood.” Bjarke’s words meant well but only served as a harsh reminder of your current predicament.

Loki had granted you a temporary escape earlier. You had laughed with him despite the pain, and his words had caused you to forget about your injuries. But now there was no escaping them. Your shoulders shook as you tried not to cry, scream, have a fit. You bit down harshly on your lip until you hissed at your self inflicted pain. 

“Quit that.” Loki knocked you gently on the forehead, and you lifted your teeth off of your bottom lip. “You’ll only make a healer’s work harder if you add more injuries.”

“A healer? Are you going to go to one? At the next village?” Bjarke asked, surprised that you would accept you needed to go to one, and that you were still trying to go on with your revenge. 

“If I can find one who will do it for me for a price other than money, then yes,” you said quietly, wiping the blood from your lips with a scowl. 

“So you intend on healing as much as possible before we leave again? And dealing with whatever is unhealed?” 

“Yes, Bjarke. I’ve dealt with a broken leg without any healing before. I can work around my injuries.”

“You weren't able to this time.” Loki’s words stung to listen to, but you knew he was correct. Even Bjarke and Asger nodded in agreement with the prince. Of course. Now they would learn to agree with him if it meant telling you to quit while you’re ahead.

“You were too close to dying this time around, Ove. If you don’t heal properly we may not be able to help you,” Asger chimed in, watching nervously as the scowl on your face only grew. 

You had long forgotten about your porridge, and now tears were stinging at your eyes for reasons other than worry. Now you were just growing irritated with being told that you couldn't do something. All three of your comrades were looking at you with judgemental eyes, with pity, and you were blind to see that they were only worried for your health. 

“I do not _need_ your help,” you said stubbornly. Asger and Bjarke both narrowed their eyes in your direction, and Asger shot a glance to Loki for good measure as well. “I do not need _anyone’s_ help. Even if I was horseless I would be just fine.”

Loki couldn’t help himself as he laughed at your statement. Bjarke and Asger both turned to glare at him this time. His laughter made your core burn. 

“If you do not need anyone’s help, I will remove the stitches from your wounds,” he said coldly. Asger and Bjarke both raised their voices in protest at the prince, Bjarke muttering about how he knew the prince was a poor person to help you. Loki ignored them, and you did as well.

“If you would wish, go right ahead.” You lifted your shirt a few inches, not moving your steady gaze from his as you gave them all view of your bloody torso. “I will just stitch them back up myself.”

“Don't be foolish.” The prince’s gaze had softened, disappointed in your response. He had wanted you to admit that you needed the help, but of course, you would not. “With the way you act, I am surprised you are not a god of pride.”

“Perhaps I was simply overlooked,” you hissed, dropping your shirt back down.

Asger and Bjarke grew increasingly more uncomfortable as the tension seemed to rise. Asger pat Bjarke on the shoulder, nodding his head back towards the campfire. With a sigh, Bjarke pushed himself to stand up straight. You blinked as you saw the two begin to leave, wondering if they would say anything to you.

Bjarke looked back at you, but he was frowning. Disappointed again. “Remember what you promised me, Ove,” he said, and your face burned with humility and shame. 

“That's not–I didn't mean to–you misunderstood,” you stuttered, but Bjarke looked unpersuaded.

“I’ll forgive you if you try again.”

At that, they left, leaving Loki and you alone in the tent once more. Your grip on the dinner bowl tightened, until Loki feared you might actually be able to break it in your hand. He took the bowl from you, and you let it slip from your fingertips without even an ounce of struggle.

“What was the thing you promised that boar? I am surprised you can make promises that do not involve death sentences.”

“I promised I would rely on them more,” you admitted, refusing to look up at Loki’s face. You were certain he was amused by your woes.

“Ah,” he said quietly, tapping his foot on the ground. “Well, you certainly need to work on that then.” 

His words meant no harm.

“Let me be for a while. Your sarcasm will only irritate me more,” you requested, resting your head back against the pillow he had set out for you. 

“I can't have that. If you intend on being able to stand tomorrow, I will need to heal you throughout the night.” There wasn't much room to complain as Loki sat back down beside you, resting his hand on your chest again. “Would it please you if I were to remain quiet until you fall asleep?”

“Greatly so,” you grumbled out, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burnt from his touch. You tried to convince yourself it was only from the warmth of his healing.

“Then I will not remain quiet.” 

His smirk could be heard in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my upload schedule has already fallen through. Life caught up to me really quickly this past two weeks, and school is starting soon for me again. I have chapters built up after this though, so uploads should never be more than five days apart.
> 
> Also, we've reached 80+ kudos and 1000+ hits! That's insane! It's hard to believe that so many people are looking at this fic that I originally started writing only for myself and my friend. 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments and support!


	14. XIV

Loki unfortunately had kept his word.

He both bothered and entertained you with sarcasm and stories of his mischief. Despite his commentary always finding a way to insult your pride, listening to him was not nearly as bad as you had expected. He made you laugh occasionally, being careful not to let you do so too much lest it hurt. He talked with you until when he glanced over at you, he found you asleep. Peacefully so, might he add. He had thought that talking with you would provide you a welcome distraction from your thoughts, because he could see in your eyes that you were ready to think more about how you had messed up. 

His plan had worked. Everytime he saw you falter and fall back into your thoughts, he picked up with a new story to tell you. The stories he told were of nothing important. Just of the minor mischief he partook in when he was only a child. Spilling drinks on adults he found boring, making women who sought to insult his mother trip over invisible objects. He had revealed nothing important of his past, and yet you were still attentive and interested, as though learning more of him was something of value. He thought that was curious. He had thought that behind your claims of interest, you would be disappointed in his stories. So far, you were not. But he did not want to see what you would think when you learned of his past, if you ever did.

You slept through the night, not once interrupted by nightmares. While Loki would have loved to pride himself by saying it was his stories and sarcasm that kept you sleeping, it was his magic. He worked to heal you more throughout the night, but also did a little extra by keeping your thoughts at bay. When you woke, you spoke about how you had slept.

“I feel like a child after waking up from long afternoon nap,” you said, sitting up and looking over at Loki with a smile. “That was the first night I've slept without a nightmare in quite a while.”

“You _look_ like a child who has just woken up from a nap,” Loki remarked, and when you turned to sneer at him, you couldn't bring yourself to.

“You were awake all night.” You frowned at the shadows under his eyes. “You didn't have to heal me the whole night. You could have slept as well.”

“I will sleep later tonight. I will get by just fine.” He was always lying.

“Then, if you will, help me once more with standing?”

Loki nodded, first standing himself before reaching down to grab your hand. It took all of your effort to pull yourself to your feet, and you were ashamed to admit that Loki played the larger role. Your legs shook, and it was as if you had forgotten entirely how to stand. Loki bit his tongue, trying his hardest to keep back his laughter.

“Let me correct myself from before,” Loki started, smirking. “You do not look like an Asgardian child. Rather the child of a deer.”

You glanced up from your shaking legs. “I thought your level of intelligence would have prevented you from being able to say anything more after last night’s sarcasm.”

“I am full of surprises,” he hummed in response, helping you out of the tent and towards the horses. 

After a while of getting used to the way your stomach hurt with every step, you carefully pulled your arm from Loki’s so that you could test out standing on your own. It hurt. And you couldn't stretch your torso without feeling a pull. Even pulling your arm away from Loki caused you a dull pain. 

“You won't be able to ride your beast,” Loki reminded you, standing close enough near you to help you in case you lost your balance. 

“I could try,” you said stubbornly, but when you looked over to Halvor, who was stood next to Asger and Bjarke and _not_ having a good time, you thought differently. It was as though two nights away from him completely erased your memory of how large of a horse he really was. Even with his help, you would never be able to mount him. You didn't even think you could move your legs enough for that. “Nevermind.”

“Ove, you can ride with Asger or me,” Bjarke spoke up, excited to see you standing. 

“He’ll be riding with me.”

Bjarke frowned at the prince. Though he entirely expected the rejection, he was hoping it would have come from you rather than from Loki. Even Halvor snorted in annoyance. You said nothing. Just conveniently cast your gaze to your legs as though you needed to focus even more on standing. You were too ashamed to lift your head towards them, and so you waited for the conversation to end silently.

“I can heal him while we ride. Riding with anyone else would only be painful.”

Bjarke nodded slowly, turning away without saying anything else. He resumed his conversation with Asger, reaching an apple out to your greatly displeased horse. You closed your eyes, not wanting to risk catching site of their disappointed faces. It wasn't until Loki whistled for his horse that you opened your eyes again. You weren't a fan of the nightmarish horse. Halvor was impressively large, and certainly had his own abrasive attitude, but Loki’s horse could stare someone into a frozen state. And right now, he currently had his attention on you.

“I do not think your horse is fond of me,” you told Loki, not breaking eye contact with the nightmare.

“You did insult him earlier,” Loki reminded you, stepping into the stirrup and pulling himself up onto his horse. He held out his arms to help you up, and you begrudgingly went to accept it. But Loki’s horse bucked in disagreement. You took a step away with a worried look, and Loki snickered at both the behavior of his horse and your reaction. “You could deal with your own beast, and yet you can't deal with mine?”

“Halvor is different. _Your_ horse seems like he's just as annoying as you,” you remarked dryly. Halvor you were accustomed too. You had been far too determined when you first met the horse, and so you didn’t have a problem when he at first bit your hand. Loki’s horse was different. He seemed like he would actually break your hand if he ever caught it between his teeth, whereas Halvor would only bite down enough to intimidate.

“And that would be why Casimir doesn't like you.” 

“Well at least the feeling is mutual.” 

Loki reached down for you again, and when you approached this time, you first met Casimir’s gaze again. “Let me remind you that I took three arrows for the sake of your prince,” you hissed, reaching up with your good hand to grab Loki’s. 

He lifted you enough so that you could get your foot in the stirrup, and once you boosted yourself up, he carefully wrapped an arm around your chest and lifted you fully onto the horse. You cursed in pain, sitting upright in front of him. Loki had been right. If you were not riding with him, you would not be able to make it through the ride without worsening your wounds. You tried to straighten your back as much as you could, hoping that the soreness would lessen if you weren't scrunched up. However, sitting straight didn’t do as much as you had hoped. You were sore, and no amount of correct posture would rid of your problems.

Loki noticed your discomfort, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He could not grab you by the waist to help you keep your balance, and even grabbing you by the shoulders was difficult to do because of your injuries. His hand rested on your injured shoulder, and within only a few moments his magic flowed through you and eased your pain. But as nice as the relief was, you couldn't forget how tired the prince looked this morning.

“You don't need to heal me the whole time,” you assured him, turning your head to look at him. 

“Are you only saying that to get me to let go of you?” Loki asked, smirking as he watched you huff and turn your head right back around.

“I am saying it because I know you are tired. You cannot hide the bags under your eyes.” You stared fervently ahead of you, trying to distract yourself from his suggestive comments. You _were_ uncomfortable sitting against his chest, and you could only imagine how it looked to those around you. Loki, the least compassionate person, had his arm around you. You, who had passionately explained your hatred for him in the beginning of the war. It was a sight to see indeed.

“You enjoy underestimating me too much,” he chastised, tightening his grip as the army increased their pace. “I will be fine. You should be worrying about yourself and the likeliness of finding a healer in this next village.”

“What a lovely reminder.” You reached your hand out and held onto part of the reins, feeling more comfortable if you knew that you could find a way to steady yourself as well. “I will find a healer. It is only a matter of convincing them that I am worth healing.”

“And how, pray tell, do you plan on doing that?”

“Honesty,” you said simply, as though that was the only answer that was needed.

Loki quirked a brow behind you, but refrained from asking you to elaborate. He supposed that if you found a healer, he would be able to see what you meant then, if anything at all. Often times you answered questions cryptically purely because you did not have an answer or a plan yet. This was one of those cases, but you would not admit that you were unsure of how to approach the scenario. You did not want to ask for unnecessary help.

Behind you, you heard a familiar neigh of protest. You twisted your body despite the pain, peering around Loki’s chest to see Halvor angrily pulling on his reins that Bjarke was holding. Bjarke was not doing anything wrong, save for the fact that he was trying to control Halvor. He seemed exasperated with the behavior of your stallion. 

“Loki, will you slow down Casimir for a short while?”

“Only because you look like you are ready to jump off of him if I don't,” he muttered, pulling on the black horse’s reins and slowing him down.

In a short minute, Bjarke and Asger caught up, and you exchanged a look with the two of them that gave off your disappointment. 

“You can let Halvor go,” you told Bjarke. “You know him well enough to know that he will not run. Just let him be unrestrained.”

Uncertainty crossed Bjarke’s face, but when Halvor spit in his direction, he released the reins. “Your beast is more welcome when he is harassing you rather than me,” Bjarke joked, watching as Halvor immediately galloped beside Casimir.

You gave Bjarke a toothy grin. “Halvor doesn't discriminate. Everyone gets a fair taste of his harassment.”

“Well tell him to share some more of it with Prince Loki there,” Asger said, and you laughed as you saw Loki’s lips twist into a frown. This time, you could tell that Asger didn't mean to directly insult the prince.

“I'm sure Halvor’s just saving it for the right time.” 

It was nearing noon when you reached your next destination. The Village of Hjarta was not what you had expected. When you were young, you could remember your father telling stories of Hjarta, his home, and of the residents who valued family and friendship over material objects. The village was described as peace loving, as beautiful in its simplicity. Your father reminisced about the beautiful cobblestone streets and the scents that came from the bakeries. About the men and women who came together every few days to dance and drink and laugh. About the children who ran together as though there was not a thing to be worried about. You had thought it sounded beautiful. But what you saw was nothing like the description you had heard. 

Trash lined the streets, people sat beneath buildings with small rations of bread in their hands, and the walls and windows were stained with blood. Children looked up at you and the other soldiers with wide eyes, eagerly approaching Prince Thor with praises of how he would help them. You were stunned into silence. You had no words for the horrors of the village around you. Glassy eyes stared out at broken doors and shredded cloth, and all of the dreams you once had of this village were violently torn to pieces. A child wrapped his frail fingers around the cloth of your pants, and when you turned to look down at him, your eyes filled with compassion.

You moved yourself from Loki’s grip, opening one of the bags on Halvor’s side and pulling out the apples you could grab. Halvor whinnied in protest, until he saw what you planned to do. You leaned back down to the child who kept his pace with you, handing him the apples that he cradled in his arms like precious jewels.

“Share them with your friends and family, please,” you told him, managing a small smile before it withered away. “Is all of this due to Fritjof?”

Loki leaned closer to you, giving a small nod of his head. “It is worse than any of us knew,” he answered honestly. “This is recent.”

You glanced back at the child you had given hope to, watching as he shared bites of the fruit with the other children. This was far too cruel. The pang you felt in your heart now had not been felt since your own village was raided, and even then, your village had not been destroyed as much as this one. They had had a purpose in pillaging this village, and it was more than to just relish in others’ suffering.

“There was never anything I could see the barbarians wanting from here,” you said. “My father had described this village as a simple one, without wealth. Why would the barbarians wish to pillage it in such a way? Wouldn't the wealthier villages be the better targets?”

“There were sorcerers here,” Thor answered you, having pulled his horse up besides Loki after dismissing some of the villagers. Upon seeing your confusion, he continued: “Hjarta has been a reliable source of magic for centuries. My father enlisted the help of some of the strongest sorcerers long ago. They looked over villages, protected them from nearby threats. In order to be able to do so safely, my father based them here, in hopes that this village would not attract attention. It was far less likely for this village to be attacked compared to a wealthier one.”

“But Fritjof figured it out,” you whispered to yourself, and Thor gave a nod of confirmation. When your village was attacked, Fritjof was merely passing through. Other villages, too, were bypassed. He still left destruction in his path, but none had been as bad as this. “And what about the sorcerers? Are they alive?”

“We do not know,” Loki said, and his voice had an edge to it that sent a chill down your spine. 

“It is unfortunately likely that Fritjof has killed them,” Thor added quietly, keeping his voice down so that the villagers wouldn't hear too much. He did not want to lessen their hope by expressing his doubts aloud.

“But surely he could get more use out of them alive.”

“And then there is the risk that they would overthrow him,” Loki reminded you, casting his gaze over the villagers who watched the army pass by. They avoided his gaze, shifting uncomfortably to look at you or another soldier instead, as if looking at Loki would sentence them to death. 

“How could they fall weak to the barbarians though? If they are the strongest sorcerers, how could the village be this destroyed?” 

“I’d advise you quit asking questions no one knows the answers to.” Loki’s advisory worried you. You could tell he was not fond of the conversation you were having, and you could feel that he sat on Casimir with tension you had never seen from him. 

“We will be here for three days. The injured will stay behind here. In two days, a small group will be here to accompany you back home,” Thor told you, and you quickly shook your head.

“I will not be one of them,” you told him, and his surprise made you irritated. “I intend on finding a healer. I will not be able to go back to my village before Fritjof is dead.”

“While I wish you luck, Ove, I do not expect you to be able to find a healer here. Anyone with even a trace of magic has vanished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Hjarta, but there are no sorcerers left to heal Ove. Will she find someone to heal her?  
> And why are the villagers afraid of Loki? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for the comments and kudos! I enjoy reading the comments more than anything.


	15. XV

Finding a healer proved to be just as fruitless as Thor had said. Loki accompanied you around the town, knowing his way around more than Asger or Bjarke would have. This way, as well, he was able to keep a close eye on your physical state. It had been hours now, and you had refused to go on Casimir. Insisting that you needed to grow stronger anyway, the two of you went on foot. You began at the front of the village, asking those you passed by on the street if they at all knew of a healer left in town. Some shook their heads, others seemed too scared to even answer you at all.

They avoided your gaze, looked to their feet. You had thought, at first, that perhaps it was you they feared answering to, but it was not. It was the prince that was at your side. They avoided looking at him, shook in their places when they saw him, and you did not know why. You had thought that Loki would be something familiar to them, being that he was a sorcerer himself. The comfort of familiarity you thought would blanket them was nonexistent. There was a nagging thought in the back of your head that perhaps Loki had somehow once lived up to the rumors, but ultimately you banished those thoughts from your mind. That was not it. These people had been hurt, and if they were blaming it on the sorcerers that had lived with them, then it would make sense that they would be fearful of another magic user. 

Nevertheless, you persisted. You carried apples in your arm, offering them to those who could give you any information about a healer. You felt bad, bribing the poor souls with food, but perhaps it would provide more persuasion. With every new face that turned away from you, you were determined that something was being hidden from you. If there wasn't an answer in their minds, they could have easily told you that they did not know of any healers. But instead they ignored you, as though if they opened their mouths, their lies would be found out. 

“You could be useful here, Loki,” you said after a while, turning to face him. He had been awfully quiet through this walk through the village. “These villagers all need a lesson in how to properly lie.”

“How could they be lying when they haven't once spoken?”

“If there _wasn’t_ a healer, they would just say so,” you said confidently, and the sigh you heard from Loki perturbed you. Was he getting frustrated with finding a healer? Was he regretting having offered to come with you in the first place? You stopped walking, pausing to let him do so as well. “What is wrong, Loki?”

“Nothing is wrong,” was his response.

You grumbled in disbelief, eyebrows twitching as they always did when you became frustrated. “I have never seen you as tense as you have been since we arrived here. What is _wrong_?”

A forced smirk came onto his face. “Aren't I supposed to be the only one allowed to begin the questioning?”

“That does not count towards this,” you exclaimed, your uninjured arm thrown out in front of you.

Loki resigned with an exhale, and the smirk was gone from his face. “I am apprehensive about the situation that took place here, that is all. It is hard to believe that sorcerers of such great caliber could be overthrown by Fritjof and his barbarians.”

Your visibly relaxed at his answer. “Is that all? I would have thought it was something more with how unusually quiet you have been.”

Loki nodded, and you could tell that he wanted to dismiss the conversation. You relented to his silent request, no longer wanting to ask him about it if he did not wish to talk about it. Instead, you tried smiling at him, turning back around on your heels and proceeding down the streets. You only began to be discouraged after the third hour. You had scoured most of the village by now, and your body was sore and tired. Your legs were slowing down, and you had lost your confident stride to a clumsy one. Each step sent a new jolt of pain to your torso, and you grit your teeth as you tried to ignore it.

“You should end your search for the day,” Loki said, reaching out to rest a hand on your shoulder to ease your pain for the walk back.

You pulled your shoulder away from his touch. “If you are tired, send Bjarke or Asger as a stand in. I intend to keep searching until I find something.”

“Do you intend on searching until your legs collapse from underneath you?” 

“If that is what it takes.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, prepared to teleport both him and you to the inn, but upon seeing the wetness in your eyes, he couldn't bring himself to do so yet. Surely if he did, you would lash out in anger and potentially only hurt yourself more. He dropped his arm back to his side, nodding silently as he gave in to your will. 

“I will find someone,” you whispered to yourself, hand balling into a fist. Your eyes went back to scouring the village for more people to question, but when you realized that you were asking the same faces once more, your chest pounded as anxiety flooded over you.

How could you be so dense? Asking people you already talked to because you could no longer keep track of who you had spoken to. You had approached so many, been turned away by so many, that you could no longer recall them all. Loki said something to you, but the pounding of your chest made you deaf to his voice. It wasn't until Loki placed his hand on your shoulder and teleported you to his room in the inn that you came to. Both the sudden change in scenery and the recognition of a minor betrayal made your anxiety morph into anger directed towards the prince.

“Don't ever do that!” You shouted, prodding him in the chest with your index finger. Your face was red with rage. “Don't you dare take me out of a situation when I am not willing!”

Loki wrapped his slender fingers around your hand and pushed it away from his chest, appalled by the anger he was witnessing. “If I did not pull you from that situation you would have drove yourself to exhaustion,” he snapped.

“And what do you care? You bigoted ass! If I don't find a healer I will drive myself to death anyway!” You snatched your hand from his grasp, anger making your breath hitch with every inhale. “This is not your decision to make.”

“Look at yourself, Ove,” Loki said, pointing to the fresh blood that was forming on your shirt. “You are in pain and should not be moving anymore.”

You laughed, ignoring the way it stung. “And yet you cannot look at yourself and recognize the way _you_ hurt.” 

You stepped away from him, testing to see if he would reach out for you and make you stay. He didn't, he stayed locked in his place as he watched you. You turned, opening the door and stepping out into the hall.

“I'll be continuing by myself so that you can't worry about me,” you mocked, shutting the door behind you. When the door was shut, you crumbled. Your bottom lip quivered, your breathing became unsteady, your eyes became blurry with tears. Your head rested against the door, and your body refused to move until you recognized that Loki had no intention of going after you.

Only then did you peel yourself from the door and move towards the exit of the inn. You ignored the soldiers around you that asked where you were going, ignored Asger and Bjarke when they offered to come with you. You exited on your own, not wanting to show the others how desperate you were to succeed at finding a healer. After only a few minutes of walking, a young boy tugged at your shirt. You cast your gaze down to him, face softening as you recognized him as the boy you gave the apples to. You reached into the pouch at your side, pulling out another apple for him.

“I was saving this for another purpose, but if you would wish to have it you can,” you told him, reaching the apple out to him. 

The boy didn't take it. 

“What’re you looking for?” He asked you, having seen you walking around with the prince earlier.

“A healer,” you said softly, and the boy went rigid. “I was injured in the last battle, but would give my soul away to continue fighting. I don't have money, but I wish to find someone willing to help me.”

“All the magic users are gone, Sir.”

You smiled softly, but even a boy of his age could see the pain as your eyes crinkled. “I still wish to keep looking. I lost someone very close to me because of Fritjof, and being here has only increased my motivation tenfold. Only, the other villagers seem apprehensive about speaking with me.”

The boy looked to the ground, his hands clasped behind his back as he rocked on the balls of his feet. After a moment’s thought, he gestured for you to follow him.

“Come with me,” he said, leading you down the village streets. You stayed silent behind him, holding the apple close to your chest as you realized that this boy might know more than he first let on. He led you through small corridors and alleyways, and finally to a beaten up door to a small building. “Come in,” he said, pushing the door open.

You poked your head in, forehead creased as you evaluated if it was safe to enter. He was only a child, and one you wanted to trust, but you were still ready to pull out your dagger if need be. When you finally adjusted to the dim candlelit building, your guard immediately dropped. There was nothing to be afraid of, and you were almost ashamed that you put your guard up. Around you were children, staring up at you with worried eyes. Blankets were strewn across the floors, and toys and books were scattered about. The boy guiding you stopped temporarily to wait for you, and when you turned to look at him, he quickly began to walk again.

“Is this an orphanage?” You asked, unsure as to why an orphanage would be so well hidden in the village.

The boy shook his head. “No. No one here would adopt us anytime soon.”

“But why…? I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“I will tell you soon.”

He stopped when he reached a room with a single bed and a few chairs. In the corner was a young girl, maybe no more than 11 years old. Her blonde hair was cropped at her shoulders, and her face was scuffed with dirt. She held a book in her hand, and her other hand was glowed brightly in the dark room, providing all of the light she needed in order to read. You marveled at the sight of her, eyes wide as you realized that she could be the one to help you. She lifted her head from her book when she saw you in the doorway, and she quickly hid her hand behind her back and stood.

“Who did you bring here?” She snapped at the boy, both fear and anger across her face.

You took a step forward, but when her eyes met yours and you saw the magic swirling in them, you couldn't bring yourself to move any further. “I am not here to hurt you,” you said quietly, raising your hand as a show of trust. “I came looking for a healer. I was injured in batt—”

“I can tell that much,” she hissed, pointing at the blood on your shirt.

“I need to be healed,” you started again. “I intend on continuing battle, whether healed or not, but I cannot fight with all of my strength like this.”

“Why would you be deserving of it?”

“Because I am strong, and my determination is unbridled.” You paused, glancing at the boy that led you here once more. “Why are you all in here?”

“You don't need to know that,” the girl told you, shaking her head. 

“But I thought that Fritjof had done something to the sorcerers here.”

She bristled. The boy stiffened in his seat. When his companion didn't answer, he finally spoke up again. “He took them. All of us here are the children of sorcerers. Our parents knew there would be an attack, so they hid us in here with strict instructions to not tell outsiders about our magic.”

“Which is _why_ it was _stupid_ to bring him here!” 

The daggers the girl shot your way were familiar to you. “Do you want Fritjof dead?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Of course. He took our _parents_. Our family.”

“Then heal me.” The two kids looked at you like they were estimating if you were worth it. “I know what it is like to lose someone. Fritjof murdered my brother when he was around your age. I want nothing more than to kill him the same way. And I'm capable of doing it.”

“Then why did you get injured so badly?”

“I made a choice and protected my comrade. If it weren't for me, he would be the one injured instead.”

“How long do you have here?” She asked.

“We leave the morning after tomorrow. So only until then, otherwise the army will continue on without me.”

“Fine. Stay the night then. We can start now.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you being serious? You will heal me?”

Another roll of her eyes. “Take off your shirt before I change my mind.”

You were still in your spot at her request. You knew this was something you would have to do, but now your fingers fumbled as they tried to unbutton shirt. The first button came undone, and you could hear the girl’s feet tap on the ground as her impatience grew. Settle your nerves, Ove. There was nothing to worry about. These were children, they would not tell about your secret. You wondered if they even knew of the law that the Allfather had created for this war. Finally your bandages were revealed, and you moved your arm from its sling and slid the fabric off of your shoulders. You wrung it nervously in your hands.

“You’re a girl?” 

“Yes, I disguised myself as a man so that I could fight in this war.”

“You don't really look or act like a girl,” the little boy chimed in, and you wrinkled your nose at his insult.

“Right, well, can we get going with this rather than insult my appearance as a woman?” You questioned, sitting down on the bed that the girl motioned to. “My name is Ove, for the record. What are yours?”

“I am Pirko. He is Maksim.” The girl undid the butterfly clasp, freeing your torso from the bandages. For the most part, Loki’s stitches had held in place. In this day alone, however, your wounds had been stretched and you had bled again. She squinted at your wounds, poking on with her finger and making you cry out in pain.

“What the fuck was that for?” You asked, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. 

Pirko was not the least bit remorseful about her actions. “Who healed you previously? Someone’s been trying. Why can't _they_ heal you instead of me?”

You frowned. It had not looked like any of the villagers were fond of Loki, and you worried that telling her about his attempts to heal you would prevent her from wanting to help you. “Prince Loki has spent the past couple of days healing me. I am very grateful for his help,” you said, throwing in that last bit just to make it seem more trusting.

“It makes sense that he wasn't able to do it properly then,” Pirko scoffed, turning her chin up.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Prince Loki knows nothing about healing. He heals himself, but never anyone else. That Trickster is more fond of destroying.”

You were not aware of what she meant. Confusion was plastered on your face, and Pirko was curious as to how little you knew about the prince and the rumors that surrounded him. She sat back in her spot, tilting her head at you. 

“He knows your secret and yet you do not know his. I will tell you while I heal you. It will keep your mind off of the brief pain you’ll probably feel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we are introduced to two new characters, Pirko and Maksim.  
> But Pirko knows something about Loki that reader doesn't? 
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and leaving comments!


	16. XVI

“Prince Loki came to Hjarta when he was a boy, against the Allfather’s wishes. He sought knowledge of spells that he was banned from being taught, and because here is a place of the strongest sorcerers, he traveled here. He approached the sorcerer Nevin in hopes he would teach him the spells he wished to learn. Nevin refused, rightfully so. The Trickster didn't want to learn spells that would benefit others. He wanted to learn spells of destruction. He wanted to learn to hurt and to control those around him. 

“When Nevin denied Loki’s request, the prince burned him out of rage. The fire burnt a majority of his face and left him with a scar that couldn’t be healed. Because of the Trickster’s temperament, Nevin nearly died of the wounds he left. Loki is a snake, he is dangerous, and he should have been locked away a long time ago. He caused that destruction, and I'm sure he's only grown more dangerous. The Allfather banned him from coming back here, but _apparently_ there are exceptions when it comes to war.”

You had tried to sit silently through all of Pirko’s story as she worked to heal your wounds, but when she spoke of how dangerous the prince would be now, you couldn't hold back any longer. “That was when he was only a boy though, wasn't it? Haven't you ever done something foolish as a child? I have.”

“My childishness never extended to attempted murder,” Pirko remarked, unable to understand the denial she heard in your voice. “Didn't you notice how no one in this village will look at him? He is a bringer of bad luck, except _he_ is the bad luck. I can't imagine why he had wasted his efforts in trying to heal you, unless he finds you useful for future plans.”

You laughed, and received a painful prod of the girl’s finger as punishment. “If you are truly suggesting that he is using me, you are more naive than you let on. You are a child, you would not have even been alive when all of this happened.”

“I wasn't alive,” Pirko confirmed, lifting a hand off of your stomach to wipe the sweat from her brow. “But Nevin is my father. I think he would be truthful about where he received his scars. My father banned magic users of Hjarta from interacting with Loki more than absolutely necessary. And it is never absolutely necessary.”

You let out a quiet noise of protest, but said nothing more about how preposterous you thought that rule was. It occurred to you now that perhaps Loki had good reason to be guarded. Everyone always treated him like he was he was going to destroy something. Granted, every now and then you could see a glimmer of hatred for the world in his eyes, but you could never imagine him as one to take his anger out so callously as everyone else warned. Even complete strangers to him claimed to know him better than anyone else, always jumping to talk about their dangerous (and lack thereof) encounters.

“Why did the Allfather forbid him from learning those spells? If your father knew them, why should Loki not be able to learn them?”

Maksim spoke up this time, perking up in his seat now that he was finally able to get a word in. “Any sorcerer who looks at Loki can see the darkness that surrounds him. You can see it in his eyes. My mother always talked about how when he came that day, he fully had the intention to kill the Allfather and take the throne. The Prince of Darkness is a misfit, but only because he makes himself that way. That man is the evilest person my mom ever met.”

“Evilest isn't a proper word, Maksim,” Pirko chimed in.

Maksim’s childish way of storytelling would have been endearing if he weren't talking about Prince Loki. Because it was about the Prince, your stomach was beginning to unsettle itself. Anxious butterflies began to flap their wings and you struggled to put words to your thoughts. “Well, I don't see any ‘darkness’ around him. He's a mischievous ass, certainly, but evil seems a little much. If he was evil, he wouldn't be in this war against Fritjof.”

“Maybe he's not. My mom always said he was no better than the barbarians. I bet he's working with them,” Maksim said, taking a bite of the apple that he had finally taken from you.

“Your mother was wrong,” you said, but when you saw how Maksim shifted at the thought of his mother being wrong, you let out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps you all need to learn to make your own decisions about people. You trusted me enough to bring me here despite seeing my on the same horse as Prince Loki, so wait and see about the type of person he is.”

“Oh, _now_ , you’re acting like a woman alight. Talking like you’re all sensible and always right,” Pirko remarked dryly.

“Listen to yourself, Pirk.” 

After that, you fell into silence, biting down on your hand whenever the pain of being healed was more distracting than your own thoughts. You at first didn't realize why healing should be painful, especially when Loki had taken away your pain for the past few days, but Pirko had explained that she was willing your body to mend together. That meant that she was not the only one having to go through a strenuous effort to fix your injuries. Your veins and muscles and flesh were all molding back together, and it was much more painful than you had ever imagined. The blonde had offered you a cloth to bite down on, but you ignorantly insisted that the pain could not be that bad.

It was, and now you wanted to swallow your words back down your throat. It had at least been an hour now, and Maksim occasionally brought in a new glass of water for Pirko. She drank it down happily every time, and yet the glass that Maksim took out for you still remained untouched. The pain wouldn't cease long enough for you to be able to swallow any of the liquid, and you doubted you would be able to hold the glass yourself anyway with how your hands were shaking. Pirko had fixed your shoulder first, telling you that that was the easiest to heal. But even with two arms being available to use, you were too faint to make the effort.

After three hours, one wound was completely healed. And while you were elated with the news, when you looked down at Pirko, she was as pale as a ghost. Without thinking, you grabbed her hands and pulled them from your torso. She glared at you, annoyed with the fact that you were both touching her and preventing her from finishing.

“Please stop for now,” you said softly, letting go of her hands after you had pushed them to her side. “You look far too exhausted to do anything more. I don't want a kid passing out on me, either.”

“Your wounds aren't healed yet,” she said, though she cradled her hands in her lap and struggled to keep herself sitting upright.

“I will come back after you’ve rested. What will I do if you give me a half assed job because you’re tired?”

“I'll give you a half assed job even if I'm not tired for that comment.” Pirko agreed with you despite her sarcasm. She could not go on to heal you more while being so exhausted. An experienced sorcerer would have been able to, but Pirko was still just a child. You hadn't expected her to be able to heal all of your wounds so quickly. She wasn't an experienced sorcerer, but you were nonetheless thankful for her efforts. 

“I will bring more fruit later on,” you said as you carefully stood back up and wrapped bandages back around your torso. “I'll try and gather enough for everyone here.”

Pirko simply nodded her head, waving you off as she jumped on the bed to rest herself. You smiled thinly, pulling your shirt back over your head and grinning when you discovered that your shoulder was perfectly healed. Pirko, despite her age and unbearable sass, was quite the savior in this moment. You walked towards the battered door, trying your best to avoid looking at any of the younger children. Looking at them softened your heart. It was easy to see that Pirko was the oldest of the children, and probably like a stand in mother to them for the time being. For the children just trying to keep their hopes up, you wished for their family to be alive and well. 

As you walked through the streets, you kept track of the turns you would need to make in order to find your way back to the children. You were anxious to be fully healed, but you knew you needed to give Pirko time to rest. You also needed to find more fruit for the children. You were certain the other soldiers would have some food to spare, especially if you told them that it would be going to children. If you had the heart to give them food, then surely they would too. 

When you reached the inn, you didn't want to wait to be able to gather food. You grabbed a spare pouch from your room, and set off to the dining hall to see the other soldiers. Walking around quickly still hurt, however now it was much more bearable. Pirko, however, would be surely irritated if you ripped open a wound again, and so you refrained from moving too much.

“Where were you at?”

You turned to face Asger, flashing him a gleeful grin. “Getting healed. One wound is completely closed, but I have to go back later. I wanted to give her a break.”

“Who is it?”

You paused, hesitant in answering him. But, it was only Asger. He was harmless despite being the size of a bull. “Her name is Pirko. She is still just a child.” You held up your empty bag. “Which is why I am here. To repay her I am going to collect food for her and the other children.”

“A child? And Fritjof did not find her?”

You shook your head, but you didn't want to tell him too much about the state of all of the children. You especially didn't want to tell him that the rest of the children were also magic users. You worried that doing so would bring harm to Pirko and the others, if word spread around. “She has kept herself well hidden. She’s a bit of a brat, but she's smart about it all. Please do not tell anyone this, Asger. Pirko will quit healing me entirely if she finds that I told someone.”

Asger looked conflicted. You could tell he wanted to tell _at least_ Bjarke, and so you told him that Bjarke was the only other one who could know. He looked pleased with your answer, and relieved that you had put that trust in them. You gave him a quick smile, wanting to move on to collect more fruit.

“Ah, wait, Ove,” Asger said, grabbing fruit and bread from his bag and passing it on to you.

“Thank you.” You placed the food in your bag, already happy to have started filling it. You said a short ‘see you later’ to Asger before you moved on to continue asking for food. You stopped by each group of soldiers, telling them what you wished to do. Most were happy to pass along extra food to you, eagerly stating how they wished they could do more for the village. 

_Most._

You hesitated when you reached Fiske and his gang, but you were determined to gather as much food as you could. You walked over to them confidently, clicking your boots on the ground loudly to gather their attention. Fiske leaned back against the table and narrowed his eyes at you, clicking his tongue against his cheek.

“You think you’re going to get any food out of any of us?” Fiske asked, and his friends chuckled. You just rolled your eyes. “This is ours, Warg. Just because a charity case can recognize other charity cases, doesn't mean any of us are obligated to donate.”

Your fingers twitched as he called you a wolf and an outlaw, wondering if he used that name for you on a regular basis. “You would let children starve, Fiske?” You asked, your voice calm, testing.

“Child’en that can't hold themselves together don't deserve the food. Just like _boys_ who can't hold themselves together don't deserve to be alive.”

You smiled at that, and Fiske’s friends nearly choked on their food when they saw the glimmer of sadism in your eyes. Your smile was not one of friendliness, but Fiske decided to taunt you more as he raised a plum up to his mouth. In mere seconds, your dagger was smoothly pulled from your belt and flung through the plum in Fiske’s hands. Your knife pinned the plum to the wall, and Fiske’s eyes widened before he could gain control of his reaction. He changed his expression to one of a cool composure, but you had already seen the brief fear you had inflicted. His friends were silenced. The knife had been pulled from your belt so smoothly that it had been impossible for any of them to prepare. They worried you might have more daggers in your belt. 

“You think that's gonna make us give you anything? You truly are a wolf. Willing to turn viscous just for a bit of food.”

It was not astonishing that Fiske had kept talking. The man did not know when to end his prattle. “Your friends may have a different opinion, unless they would wish to see another display of my marksmanship.”

You snapped your fingers expectantly, smirking as hands dropped food into your satchel. When you decided they had given you enough, you leaned over the table and pulled your dagger from the wall. Sliding the plum off, you tossed it in Fiske’s direction. 

“Wouldn't want to ruin your snack, Fiske,” you cooed, turning on your heels.

You had gotten what you had came for, and wanted to return to the house where Pirko and Maksim were. Even if you planned on giving Pirko more time to rest, you figured that in that time you would be able to pass out the food you brought them. You surely had enough for all of the children you saw, and you hoped they would ration out the food so that it would last them more than a couple of days. While soldiers were being provided with meals from the village, you knew you could no longer ask for food. Eventually the others’ kindness would run out and they would grow irritated with your requests, especially if they themselves were running on empty stomachs. 

When you reached the door, you quietly knocked. You were fearful that opening the door yourself would cause the children to be fearful of it being someone else, but more importantly, you did not want angry children with magic abilities being on guard. So far you had only been on the positive end of magic, and you hoped it would remain that way. After a short while of waiting, it was Maksim who opened the door. There was a hole in the middle of the door where he could look out from, to make sure that whoever it was on the other side could be trusted. 

As soon as the door was opened and Maksim had a clear view of the large satchel on your shoulder, he pointed to it and tilted his head. “Is that more food?” He asked, and when his eyes met yours you could see the awe he was feeling. 

“I went back and got some more for all of you. If you ration it, it could last you for quite a while,” you answered, closing the door behind you and dropping the bag on the floor to give clear view of all of the good fruits and bread you brought. “Of course, be careful with the fruit though. The apples will last longer than any of the other fruit, so I'd recommend saving those.”

“Why’d you bring so much?”

“As a thank you. I can't do much else right now, but food is something I knew I could get. Do you need anything else? Blankets? Anything?”

Maksim shook his head. “This is _more_ than enough. Pirko will be thrilled! Though she won't show it, cause ya know she's too stubborn to. Are you wanting me to go wake her up?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head at the boy’s antics. “No, no, please keep the ogre asleep. Waking her now would only make her hurt me instead of heal me.” You sat down on the floor, leaning back on your hands. “I'll just hang out for a while.” Maksim rocked on his feet, and you watched for a brief moment as he played with his fingers and kept shifting his gaze back to you. “Go ahead, say whatever you want to. It's annoying to just watch you rock back and forth like that.”

“Why’d you disguise yourself as a man just so you could fight in this dumb war?”

You had expected that question. And so you went through and carefully explained what had happened when you were young, although you omitted most of the details so as not to frighten Maksim. When you were through with your brief story, Maksim still had questions.

“What’d your parents think of this idea?”

You frowned. “They don't...they don't know, Maksim. I haven't spoken to my parents in a few years. They don't. I suppose they don't even know where I am right now.” The realization made your chest tighten. The thought of telling your parents had occurred to you, sure, but you had never thought of the consequences of leaving without them knowing. 

They had seen you around your village numerous times, but every time you had caught sight of them yourself, you quickly got yourself lost in the crowd. Now, you couldn't help but wonder what they thought of your disappearance. Did they think you only left the village? Or did they think you were dead? 

Would they think they had lost you the way they had lost their son?

You cleared your threat, trying to distract yourself from the depressing reality of your decision. “I will return to my parents, and I promise your parents will return to you,” you said finally, and the tears that poured from Maksim’s eyes reminded you of the way you had cried when the weight of being kicked out had settled in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Old Norse, a Warg (or vargr) is a wolf or outlaw. I enjoy throwing in bits and pieces of Old Norse, and Hjarta (this village) means heart/health.
> 
> Also I changed the chapter names to Roman numerals, because thinking of chapter names is absolutely impossible for me.
> 
> ALSO we've reached 100 kudos! That's crazy! Thank you so much to those that comment and leave kudos!


	17. XVII

You sat in silence as Maksim cried. He had found his way to sit beside you in the midst of his sobs, but your hands were awkwardly placed in your own lap. Here was a boy whom you could relate to, and here was a boy who needed someone to comfort him. Yet your arms could not move towards him, and you could not bring your face to look at his. He sought your compassion, and with every hiccup from his mouth he longed for it more. He missed the comforting hugs from his mother, the reassuring squeezes of the shoulder from his father. He missed hugs and warm breakfast and he missed adults telling him it would be alright rather than kids. 

He longed for all of that, and you were terrified that you could not give it. Your muscles twitched with every sob from the boy, screaming at you to reach out for him and provide him comfort, but your mind screamed louder. For so long, you had been told that you lacked empathy and that you could not understand the grief of others. You had been called a monster, and surely monsters did not have the capabilities required to comfort a child who longed for their parents. 

But as Maksim cried, you too were cruely reminded that you longed for your own parents. He was a child, and you an adult, and yet you both longed for the same thing. A regular life, a happy family. Neither of you were gifted with what you had wanted. So finally, you glanced at Maksim. The boy wracked in his spot, and his cries came like the screeches of an owl. You could no longer sit still, and your arms acted on their own as they wrapped around Maksim. 

You pulled the frail boy into your lap, resting his head against your chest as he heaved with the great effort it took to breathe between sobs. You were awkward, unsure of what to do as you kept your hand rested on the back of his head. You didn't know what to do now that you were holding him. Everything about what you were doing went against what people had told you about yourself. 

Lack of empathy.

No emotion besides rage.

A monster.

You shut your eyes tightly as those nagging thoughts came back, telling you to push the boy aside and make him toughen up by himself. You almost wanted to do so, to make him go through what you had in order to make him stronger than he was now. But as he held tightly onto the cloth of your shirt, you found yourself wishing he would grow up with all of the love you had so rejected. He did not deserve to be hardened, or to have to build up walls to shut himself out from the world. He needed to be the opposite of you. 

Your arm wrapped around him, and your hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. You remembered once when you were young and had scraped your knees, your mother had scooped you up from the stones and rubbed your back in the same way. It had calmed you, eased your crying. You hoped it would do the same for Maksim. And it did. His sobbing grew quieter, his hiccups came sooner as he no longer had the tears to pour from his eyes or the cries to shake from his lungs. You remained silent, resting your chin on the boy’s head as you tried to distance your mind from him. You stared at the dirty wall in front of you, refusing to look down at Maksim’s crying face for any longer. It terrified you that if you did, you yourself might begin to cry. 

Three people were enough. Three people were enough to have seen you cry, and you no longer wanted to share your tears with anyone more. Not even a young boy who was far more vulnerable than you. Your justification for this was that he needed someone to be strong for him. If you cried, you would show him how you worried too, and he did not need to know that you lacked the confidence to promise him his parents would be entirely alright. Because the truth was, you didn't know. Fritjof was a man capable of turning a once lit city into a shadow of itself, and you knew from experience that he was capable of changing people in the same way. 

And so you just held him in your arms, rubbing circles into his back and staring at the wall until Maksim’s cries came no longer and the other children began to come around to sit beside you as well. You spared a look at all of them too, but regretted it. No child here was older than thirteen, and they all had puffy faces and red eyes that made their distress evident. They had waited for Maksim to calm down before they decided to come over themselves, offering Maksim small words of encouragement in the innocent way only children could. 

“You will all be fine,” you promised, finally looking down to Maksim and pushing his unkempt hair from his face. “Prince Thor will lead our army to victory and your families will all return safe and sound.” You decided against mentioning Loki, despite him being an equal leader of the Asgardian army. The children were not fond of the prince, and you didn't want to worry them by mentioning his name. 

“What if they don't?” It was a little girl who spoke, and she was clinging onto a small doll. 

“That is not something you need to worry about. Your families are strong, are they not? Famed sorcerers are intelligent, they will find a way to keep themselves safe. And someone who has others to protect, like your parents wish to protect you, will go to great lengths to do so.”

You wished to say more, but your words were cut off as you heard one of the children whisper that someone was at the door. All of the children were already here, and you were their only expected guest. Maksim moved from your lap, and he was the only one who stuck around besides you to see who the person was. The other children fled to other rooms, picking up their items along the way. You stood slowly, taking your dagger out of your belt and moving towards the door. 

“Maksim, go with the others. I will take care of it,” you told him, but the boy held onto the back of your shirt and shook his head. “Maksim,” you hissed, taking his hand from your shirt. “ _Go_.”

Upon hearing the seriousness in your voice and the way the words came off as almost a threat, Maksim finally turned to go where the other children were. Relief washed over you, glad the boy was no longer besides you. Having him near made you worried for his safety in a situation such as this. You tightened your grip around your dagger as you approached the door, pressing your back up against it as you waited for whoever it was to push the door open. You slowed your breathing, minimized the shifting of your feet as much as possible. The door began to open, and you pushed your body from behind it and launched yourself at the intruder, dagger high in the air as you prepared to sink it into whoever was unexpecting of it. 

Slim fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping your dagger from sinking into the target. Your eyes widened, you stepped back, but when you prepared to lift your leg and kick out at the man, the haze of danger left your eyes. 

“Loki?” You asked, dropping your foot back to the floor as he let go of your wrist. 

“Were you planning on killing whoever it was that opened this door?” He asked, moving past you to enter the building.

“Why are you here? How did you even find this place and figure out that _I_ was here?” The truth was, you didn't want him to be here. You were worried that him being here would mean Pirko would trust you less.

“I asked Asger what you were doing and followed you here.” Upon seeing the irritation that crossed your face, he spoke again: “He only told me that you were bringing food to children. But _why_ are you here and trying to hide or protect them? Who do you have to protect ordinary children from?”

“Loki, _leave_ ,” you said, stepping in front of him everytime he tried to move around the room. “I don’t wish to talk to you.”

“Oh, but why would it bother me if you didn't wish to?” He stepped around you, his hands clasped behind his back as he perused the room. 

You narrowed your eyes. You didn't know how you should get the prince to leave, and you didn't know the patience of the children, either. “You’re making me wish I had never saved you from those arrows.”

He didn't look very phased by your comment. “So where are they?”

“Where are who, Loki? I get that you’re supposed to be the God of Mischief but you must know that now I am not in the mood for your riddles.”

“Don't be daft, Ove,” he said, growing exasperated with you now. “Where are the children?”

You didn't know why you were so hesitant in answering him. Pirko and Maksim’s stories were repeating in your mind, making you weary of Loki’s reasoning for coming here. Why did he want to know where the children were so badly? Did he know that they were all sorcerers as well? Before you could voice your questions, Loki was speaking again, but not to you.

“You can all come out from your little hiding spots,” Loki announced, glancing at the doorways as he stood in the middle of the room. “Apparently none of your parents taught you how to hide the presence of your magic.”

So that was it. That's how he knew that the children here were sorcerers. “It's okay,” you said after him, not wanting the children to be scared of the prince. “If he chooses to do anything even mildly concerning I will slit his throat.”

Loki chuckled at your threat, sending you a grin that you would prefer to slap off of his face. You did not appreciate his antics right now, and you were worried that this would cause Pirko to call of the deal. Your worries were justified as well, because when Pirko entered the room her eyes were glowing with an intensity you had never seen before. Her fists were balled at her sides and the other children only poked their heads out to look at Loki from a safe distance.

“What do you want, Liesmith? Care to burn any of us?” 

You had heard Pirko angered before, but now she felt threatened and her tone could send chills down even your spine. The other children were fearfully staying behind her, clearly hoping that Pirko would be able to protect them by herself. You looked to Loki, who was thoroughly amused by Pirko’s behavior. 

“Not at all, honestly. I came to see who was healing Ove, nothing more,” he responded, but Pirko did not drop her guard. Instead, her anger turned momentarily towards you.

“I knew I should have stopped healing you after you said that he helped you!” She shouted, jabbing her finger in your direction. “Was this your plan? To have me heal you and then turn everyone’s attention to us so that we can end up like our parents?” 

“No, no, Pirko, I explained to you why I needed to be healed,” you reminded her, hands raised in surrender. 

“You should have never been allowed in this building.” Pirko’s magic was swirling around her hands, and it was unlike the magic you had witnessed all while she was healing you. 

Her anger was beginning to frighten you. You had witnessed Loki’s magic before, had seen the way that he fought on the battlefield when he wasn't making use of his daggers. Her magic was similar to his. Dangerous and frightening and something you were not familiar with. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Loki watching her carefully. You wondered, did he think this was normal for a child who used magic? Would he step in if her anger was too much for you to handle? You didn't have time to run questions through your head anymore, and Pirko shot a threatening ball of magic in front of you, leaving the wood floors stained with black. 

“You need to leave,” she hissed, nodding her head towards Loki. “And take him with you. You are not welcome in this village.”

“Pirko, I am not here to hurt you,” you repeated, flinching back as another warning shot stained the floors once more. 

But when she lifted her arm again, tiny hands clasped over her fist and dragged it back to her side. “Pirk, Ove brought us food.” Maksim’s voice was no more than a whisper, and yet the combination of that and his reassuring touch made Pirko’s facial features soften for a moment.

“Then explain the Liesmith being here, Maksim,” she said, trying to harden her exterior as she looked back up at you. 

This was a wounded girl who lost her family. This was a wounded girl who had become a stand in mother to many despite being just as directionless as them. She had lost her family, and now she was doing everything she could to protect her adopted one. This was a girl who had no one to trust but herself, and as she stood and tried to analyze you, you could see that she was trying to cling onto the hope that you would truly help them. That you would be someone she could trust. 

Loki cleared his throat. “I can explain that myself, if given the chance to speak.”

“Even your speaking seems to unsettle things,” you huffed, still carefully standing a ways from Pirko in case she decided once more that she wanted you dead, or at least more injured than you first came to her as. 

“I could sense your magic,” he told Pirko. “I confess I couldn't grasp the others until I was just outside of the building, but I noticed you the moment I set foot into this village.”

“So what do you _want_?”

“I merely wanted to see who you were. I was not expecting a child as loud mouthed as you.” He paused, seeing the magic swirl around her fists again. “Continue healing Ove and I will teach you to mask your presence to others.”

Both you and Pirko’s faces scrunched up at the deal Loki was striking. You turned to face him entirely, no longer concerned that Pirko would lash out at you. “Could you not have spoken about that _before_ the brat decided she wished to injure me?”

“Now, where would the fun be in that, Ove?” He asked, still complacently standing in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back and a smirk on his face. “I wanted to see more of her magic, and provoking her seemed like the best way to get genuine hatred out of her.”

“You are an absolute daft, idi—” 

Pirko cut you off. “That wasn't even the full extent of my hatred, Liesmith. If you dare do anything mischievous around me or any of the other children, then you will see my hatred.”

“I would much rather your hatred stay directed at Ove for the time being. But perhaps not until after you’ve healed her.”

_Her._ Being reminded that this room full of practical strangers all knew your secret unsettled you. Loki was referring to you as a woman now, not a man. If he slipped around others that could mean the very worst for you. 

“Consider this as me righting the wrong I made when I was a boy. I will teach you how to hide your presence so that you are better suited to protect yourself and the others here from the likes of Fritjof.” There was a lie somewhere mixed in his words, but you didn't know which part of it was truly false. “I will only have a few hours to do so after Ove is completely healed, however, so I hope you learn quickly.”

Pirko didn't want to accept that she needed to be taught anything from the man she had called the Prince of Darkness. But Maksim and the others relied on her for protection, and so if she needed to bear with the man’s company for a day, she would have to make do. 

“Fine. But Ove sticks around for a while.” You tilted your head in confusion at her words. “Maksim seems to like listening to you talk. Who knows why when you’re so awfully arrogant.”

So it was decided then. You saved your wit for later, still hyper aware of the tension that was passing between Pirko and Loki. The smirk on his face was there, and Pirko seemed hesitant to approach him in fear that he would treat her the way he treated her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My excuse for not uploading this yesterday was that I was knee deep in Game of Thrones. :P (please don't spoil it, I'm only on season 3!)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and commenting!


	18. XVIII

Loki being near while Pirko healed you proved to be more harmless than you thought. While she was initially uncomfortable with the prince’s company—and you were too, as your bandages were once more exposed to him—he had kept quiet all throughout the process. It was most likely because he was not knowledgeable about healing the way that the girl was, and was therefore unable to make any witty remarks without them being thrown back at him. Throughout the process he wandered around the small room, seeming to occupy himself with the details of the dingy interior. Occasionally he would look back at you to see how you were doing or if Pirko’s technique had changed, but every time he did so you sent him a glare to turn away. 

Your face remained unbearably red throughout the process, and even Pirko muttered under her breath about how you were being ridiculous. You didn't see how it was fair of her to say that when she wasn't the one without a shirt on. You had never considered yourself to be someone easily embarrassed, but you felt vulnerable with your bandages exposed to someone who held so much power in the army. The moment he grew bored of you, he could give up your secret to anyone he pleased, and you would have no way of disproving him. Loki made no comment on the color of your face, having already seen it flushed before while he was healing you, and again when he lent you his shirt. His lips made his amusement obvious, however, and at one point you could almost swear you heard him chuckle. Pirko made a few comments towards Loki about how he should go occupy himself elsewhere until she was finished, but he paid no mind to that, either. 

Healing this time around was not nearly as painful. Perhaps it was because you now knew what to expect, or perhaps it was because Pirko was being a little nicer to you. You had a feeling it was the latter, as her hands no longer poked and prodded at your skin unnecessarily. The idea of her inflicting pain on you while healing the first wound was irritating, to say the least, but you supposed you were still someone she did not trust. Even now, you doubted that she trusted you fully, especially Loki’s sudden and inconvenient appearance. When she was finished with the second wound, you stopped her from moving on to the third. You could see the tired look return to her face, and you didn't want her to overexert herself. 

“Don't heal me anymore today, Pirko,” you said, pushing her hands away from you as you sat up straight. “There is always tomorrow.”

Even while saying that, you were anxious that you would not be fully healed. That Thor would make an announcement that the army must move on sooner than anticipated. You were sure you could make do with only one wound, but you would have to make sure that Thor did not find about it if that happened to be the case. You were certain he would not let you continue fighting, especially since he had seen how exhausted your body was from the last battle. Loki, too, would most likely be against you continuing, unless he found it to be entertaining. 

“Shall we begin teaching you how to hide your magic, then?”

Pirko nodded, but you shook your head at his suggestion. “Can you not let her just rest for a while?” 

“I cannot rest if my family is in danger,” Pirko said, and you grumbled in annoyance. So stubborn.

“You will not be able to help them if you exhaust yourself,” you snapped back, and she rolled her eyes. Pirko sat on the bed beside you, kicking you hard in the side to make you move off of the bed.

“Let me rest then. _Without_ having to listen to either of you speak to me.”

Your response was simply moving back out into the main room. Loki followed behind you, humming quietly. He had something on his mind, something he wanted to say. He was just waiting for you to notice it first. “What do you want, Loki?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, picking a stuffed rabbit off of the ground to look at. “I was just going to comment on how hypocritical you are.”

“Care to elaborate?” You took a seat against the wall, not quite feeling like you wanted to make the trip back to the inn. If you could, you would prefer to stay the night with the children. It made you feel more at ease to know that they were all alright.

“You tell the girl not to overexert herself because she will not have the strength needed later on, and yet you do the exact opposite for yourself.”

You made a face at that, not wanting to see the truth in his words. “She’s a child, I'm an adult. Her capabilities are different from mine.”

“If they were so different, would you really have fallen from three arrows because of your own stubbornness?” 

“Why are you like this? Would you quit reading into everything I say or do? I am not a puzzle to be solved,” you replied, resting your chin on your knees.

“Funny, that is what I said to you. It is not so amusing to be on the other end of things,” he said, chuckling at your groan of annoyance. 

You knew he was right, and that's why it was so annoying to you. “I do not care about myself as much as I care about the health of others. I am selfish in every other way besides that.” You pulled your hair out from the bun it was in. “What is your intention?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean, Ove,” Loki pressed, finally setting the stuffed rabbit back on the ground where he found it. He placed it down gently, leaving it the way he initially found it, and the action brought a small smile to your lips. 

“Pirko, you ass,” you said finally, moving your gaze away from the rabbit. “Why are you teaching her to hide her magic?”

“What has she told you that has made your weary of ulterior motives?”

His question made you pause. You let out a strangled noise because you knew that it was her words that made you so nervous about him being here around the children. You had always been hell bent on refusing to listen to the other soldiers when they spoke poorly of Loki, and yet Pirko, a _child_ , made you question him. And even so, even if the story was true, which you knew it probably was, Loki had only been a child then. It shouldn't matter now. 

“She told me about you seeking spells that the Allfather had forbid you from learning. And how when Nevin refused to teach you, you left him with burns,” you admitted, picking at the callouses on your hands to avoid looking at him. “Is that true? And if it is, why would you wish to help his daughter now?”

Loki didn't say anything for a moment, and instead took his time to sit himself against the wall next to you. “Wasn't it part of the deal that I should be the only one to initiate the questioning? I think it's only fair that I ask you a question first before I answer anything more about my past.” His answer was a mumbled ‘fine’ and a dramatic huff. “What does your real voice sound like?”

“Really? That's what your question is?” You asked him, staring at him until he gave a confirmation nod. You hit the back of your head against the wall, not wanting to raise your voice back to its normal pitch. Loki knew you were a woman, and all of the children knew as well, and yet you had still never returned to your normal voice around them. You were afraid that if you got used to doing so, you would forget to lower it again around others. Speaking in your natural voice meant ridding yourself of one more protective covering, but you didn't want to waste your one denial on something so trivial. “It sounds like this,” you whispered.

“You’ll have to speak louder than that, Ove,” Loki teased, tilting his head as he waited for you to do so. He had heard you, you _knew_ he had heard you, and it was infuriating that he wished to press you even further. But if it meant receiving answers about him, you would relent.

“Must you be so incredibly aggravating?” You asked, your voice adjusting to the pitch that had become foreign to you. “I will keep my voice at this pitch for the rest of the night only because my throat could use the break, but after that you will never hear this voice again.”

“Never again?” He asked, a small frown on his face. He was genuinely disappointed in the idea of never hearing your real voice again, as already he found it more appealing than when it dropped a few octaves. “What about when this war is over?”

“That will not matter because you will not see me once the war is over. Now, I do think I'm the one who gets to ask a question next. What is your motive behind teaching Pirko new skills?”

“So persistent,” Loki commented, having hoped you would have changed your question by now. “For one, I am not as evil as she says I am. I would have thought you would have understood that. But, she also possesses knowledge that I do not know of. I hope to persuade her to give me access to her father’s books, and in turn the spells I was kept from as a child.”

“But didn’t the Allfather ban you from learning those spells? Why?”

“That is two more questions that you don't have the capability of asking at the moment,” he reminded you, making you wish you had never suggested this game in the first place. “So I will ask you another question. What is your real name?”

You froze. Of course he would ask that as one of his first questions. Why wouldn't he just be normal and ask something about your childhood instead? But when you thought about it, anyone else would have asked the same question. Knowing someone’s name was common, asking for someone’s name was common. But you did not want to tell. 

“No, Loki, ask something else,” you said, and he reminded you of the other half of the deal with his gaze. “This is my one and only rejection to your questioning. You cannot have my name.”

“Why is it so frightening to you to reveal more about who you really are? I am already aware that you are a woman. I don't see why you would be so firmly against not telling me more,” Loki said, truly finding your ways to be incomprehensible. 

“If I reveal my name, you may slip and call me by that rather than by Ove. I do not wish to take anymore chances regarding my identity. To you, I am a woman, yes, but to others I am a man named Ove. And I would like to keep it that way. The less you know of my real identity, the less opportunities you have to slip up.”

Loki chuckled, pushing his hair back. “You doubt me too much if you think I will simply lose my tongue and call you by your real name.” When your only response was an irritated grumble, he continued, “That is your one rejection. Remember that you used it on something so foolish.”

“It is not foolish to me, Loki.”

“By the stars, I thought that having her alone here was bad, but the combination of the two of you is remarkably worse,” Pirko said as she entered the room, walking over to the bag of food that you had dropped off. “Do the two of you always bicker like you are now? I would have thought that with the way she spoke about you, she would at least appear more fond.”

“Oh? Were you defending me once more, Ove?” Loki asked, pressing a hand to his heart as if he were truly touched by your actions. 

“I will stop defending you now that I know it pleases you when I do so,” you snapped, reaching for the bag of food and taking off a small piece of bread. You had brought the food for the children, and yet now your stomach’s rumbling was only growing louder by the minute. Despite your hunger, you felt guilty taking even the smallest piece of bread. It was no more than a bite’s worth, and a tiny bite at that, but you still felt that it would be better suited going to a child instead. 

“You’re allowed to eat more than that, you know. We’ll find more food at another time. You don't have to act as though we will starve from one less piece of bread,” Pirko said, and you felt like you were being chastised by your mother. 

You could tell that Pirko did not like to be viewed as weak, and that it probably seemed off putting for you to be so hesitant about eating their food. It made it seem as though you were deeming them incapable of finding food on their own, and that if you took even the smallest bit away from them, they would die in just a few days. That was wrong, you knew, because Pirko and Maksim and the other children were stronger than they seemed. If they had made it this long, they would surely be able to make it longer. And yet still, you wished to help them more, and to make their lives easier. Maksim had expressed his vulnerability to you and Pirko would do so too if not for her toughened exterior. 

“If you are hungry, all you would have to do is ask politely for food,” Loki hummed, snapping his fingers. The platters of food that appeared in front of you made your eyes grow larger than your stomach. Fruit, bread, cheeses, meats. Bountiful amounts of food that looked too fancy for you to even touch with your grimy fingers. “Help yourself,” he told you and Pirko, and the young girl immediately called for the other children. 

“Tonight we can feast!” She cried out to them, momentarily lost to her childish glee. As children came anxiously into the room, as the so called Prince of Darkness still made them nervous, their worries were vanquished by the sight of fresh food. Small hands came reaching towards the cheeses and meats, and giggles came from their mouths in between chewing and biting. 

Their elated voices soothed your soul. Loki passed you a small plate of meat and cheeses, and your expression showed pure bliss. The presence of food and the children’s euphoria temporarily eased all of your anxieties, and you were truly happy in this moment. Tears built up in your eyes as the children ate and laughed, and you tried to cover up their presence with your laughter. Loki was watching you with a fondness in his eyes, amused by how such a simple gesture could fill your chest with such mirth. 

“You question why I defend your character and yet perform an action such as this,” you told him, holding up your plate for him to see as if he was unaware of the effect it had. “You do not have a heart of stone as everyone says you do. Thank you, Loki.”

“I would have thought you would have been too stubborn as to thank me for anything,” he commented, and you shrugged your shoulders as you ate a piece of cheddar. 

“I will go back to being angry and stubborn once this plate of food is no longer in my hands,” you assured him with a laugh, and his response was another genuine smile and snicker. 

 

When the children had finally had their fill of food, some snuck off into small bedrooms to tuck themselves away for the night. Pirko followed them, and as Loki and you stayed silent, you could hear her telling the young ones a bedtime story. It was the story of Bor’s sons killing the giant Ymir, and it was one that every child grew up hearing. You could remember being younger, and taking turns playing the frightening giant for the other one to slay with your brother. For years, your brother and you were fond of the game, favoring that feeling of conquest over playing house or acting out another bedtime story. 

“I wish to stay here for the night,” you said suddenly, after you had pulled yourself from your memories that were brought on by Pirko’s storytelling. 

“I would not have pinned you as one with a soft spot for children,” Loki responded.

“And I would not have pinned you as one either.” 

“You have much in common with the girl. I am not surprised that you have grown to like and care for her so quickly.”

You shook your head. “I don't—I don't care for her,” you said quickly, grabbing onto the fabric of your sleeves. 

“And I suppose you don't care for your horse or your comrades, either,” he said cooly, and you frowned. “You are not a coward in battle, but you are when it comes to people who are not an enemy.”

“So I guess you will admit to caring about them too?” You shot back, not sure how he of all people could speak about your unwillingness to admit that you cared.

“I do not care for the children.” 

Your bottom lip curled out in disgust as you tried to find the lie in his statement. Only this time, he truly had you fooled. He could be telling the truth or lying, and you would never know which was correct. “Why bring food then? Is this all to garner Pirko’s trust so that she shows you those spells?”

He shook his head. “No, I must admit it was not Pirko who motivated me to bring more food here.”

He said nothing more, and neither did you. You pulled at your sleeves as you thought about his words, tugging until you located the other source of his motivation. You stilled. If it was not Pirko, and his motivation was not the other children or the spells, then his motivation was sitting right beside him. 

“Oh,” you said quietly, a light blush on your face. But when you turned to confront Loki about it, he was gone from your side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Ove are beginning to soften up around each other, aren't they? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Sorry I didn't get a chance to upload this yesterday! Better late than never, though.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! It encourages me to write more.


	19. XIX

Loki’s disappearance gave you silent permission to sleep where you were, only now you were unsure of if you would be able to. You had much to think about, and equally as much to worry about. Here you were, in a house full of children that all held some aspect of yourself. Pirko had your stubbornness and your drive. Maksim had your vulnerability and curiosity. All of the children had the loss you suffered. And yet, you could not admit out loud to caring about them. You associated caring with weakness, and while you knew deep in your mind that you cared greatly for them and greatly for your comrades, admitting so verbally would expose too much. 

Your frantic mind told you that revealing any sort of vulnerability would doom you in the future. Someone, whether an enemy or a comrade, would use your caring to slight you. They would surely pinpoint those you cared about most to hurt you somehow, but if you didn't care about anyone, there would be no one to hurt and no one would be harmed because of you. Then again, would not admitting that you cared hurt the others just as much? Bjarke and Asger had already expressed their distaste to your attitude, and wished you would rely on them more. You had twice now disappointed Bjarke, and each time it had made your heart pang painfully. Perhaps if you admitted to caring about him and Asger, things would be better. 

You could admit to caring about Halvor. He was a horse, your trusty companion despite him being an irritable ass. He couldn't talk, so you knew you would never have to hear any words you dreaded from him. He could not tell you he was disappointed in you, even if he could bite your hand. He could not tell you that he could no longer deal with you, even if he could just run away. It was the words you dreaded, not necessarily the actions. Asger punching you had hurt, but Bjarke reminding you of your broken promise had momentarily shattered you. 

Yes, you cared. You cared about Halvor, about Asger and Bjarke, about the children, and about Loki. 

“I care perhaps too much,” you whispered, laying sprawled out on the wooden floor as you stared up at the ceiling. If only you could form those words around others rather than around just yourself. 

When you tried to rid yourself of those concerning thoughts, they were only replaced by others. By _others_ , your mind was concerned with a certain raven haired prince. You still did not know why Loki sought to learn spells he was forbidden, or why he was forbidden to learn them in the first place. Everyone says that he has a darkness around him, but the only darkness you ever saw in him was what was inflicted on him by others. And now you had even less of a reason to worry. You were not concerned about his motives behind learning the spells, as surely someone who was as conniving as people say would not have went through the effort to bring food for unfortunate children. 

Yet still, he had said that he was not motivated by the children at all. He was motivated by you, and that was...well, you didn't how to feel about it. He hinted at caring about you, as well. It seemed so odd, that a man who was adamant about hating you was now hinting about caring about you. And looking at his past actions, it was foolish of you to think that he still disliked you. Taking your mind off of your nightmares, leaving you a blanket, healing you, warding off others so that they would not see your bandages, and now bringing food for you and the children when he saw how worried you were about it. 

A small smile crept onto your face as you thought about the good natured side of the prince. Bickering with him was common, and yet when you could pull a laugh from him, you felt yourself grow happier as well. You covered your face with your hands, unable to understand where these emotions were coming from. You cared for Bjarke and Asger too, and yet thinking about them did not fluster you as much as thinking about Loki. You did not think it was Loki’s appearance that had you so flustered. Perhaps it was just the way he could speak so little about himself and still leave you feeling like you were one and the same. 

You groaned into the palms of your hands, no longer wishing to dwell on thoughts of caring and on thoughts of Loki. And yet, as you closed your eyes to try and let your body rest, Loki’s image played behind your eyelids. His lean frame, dark hair, the way his thin lips curved into a smirk when he was amused by your actions.

“Shit,” you cursed, no longer able to keep your eyes closed. Maybe it _was_ his looks as well that formed the uncomfortable knots in your stomach. 

Now you had truly messed up. 

You sat up in your spot, rubbing your eyes as though it would get rid of the cursed images of Loki. This was the first time you had ever felt conflicted over a man. You never had any interest, and you never thought you would. You didn't even know if you could consider him a friend, or if he considered you one. Surely he did, if he cared about you. Or was his caring the same as yours usually was, in which he only cared because you had saved his life and now he was indebted to you? 

“I had thought you would have been asleep by now.”

You let out a shout of surprise, and when you finally realized it was only the devil you had spoken about, you placed a hand over your chest and calmed your panicked breathing. “What is _wrong_ with you? There is such a thing as knocking or at least warning me of your presence, you know.”

“At the moment, it seems that there is more wrong with you,” he mocked, tossing you the blanket that he held in his hands. 

You unfolded the blanket he gave you, holding the knit material close to your body and smiling at the warmth it brought. “I cannot sleep,” you said truthfully. “And now I am certain that my heart rate will not let me sleep, you arse.”

“My presence has that effect on you, does it?” 

Oh how you wished you could punch that sly smirk off of his face without any consequences. “Only because every time you arrive you frighten me somehow. Whether by making yourself seem like a threat or just appearing out of nowhere as you just did.” 

“You’re right,” Loki said casually, “that is exactly why your cheeks were flushed before while being healed. Because I _frightened_ you.” 

“What was it you called me that one night? An insufferable bitch?” You asked him, and the question made him pause and frown a little, as if that was a sour memory to remember. “Because that is exactly how I feel about you in this moment.”

“Charming,” he chuckled, and when you said nothing more, he leaned up against the wall. When he looked at you again his eyes narrowed, although not with malice or anger, but with concern. “Are you afraid of your nightmares again?”

“Afraid is not the word I would prefer to use,” you muttered, but nodded your head anyway. “I do not wish to wake up disoriented and frighten anyone. Asger and Bjarke are at least now aware of my nightmares, but these children have no idea.”

“I can stay the night as well if you desire me too,” Loki offered. “That way when you wake up, you are at least seeing something familiar to you right away.”

“I don't know how familiar you are to me, Loki.”

“Well, you’ve stopped addressing me as Snake. I'd say you are growing more familiar with each passing day.”

“But I still don't know you Loki, nor do you know me,” you pressed.

“Then tell me about your childhood, or about why you are here. Give me more of an answer than you ever did before,” Loki suggested, sitting himself down next to you.

“You realize that me telling you about myself will entitle me to knowing the same about you?” He nodded; a simple confirmation that he was fully aware of that. If you could open up to him about your own past, your own curiosity could be sated. “Where do you wish me to start?” You asked, giving into your curiosity.

“From wherever you would like, Ove. If you wish to tell me about your parents, so be it. If you wish to tell me about your nightmares, that is fine as well. I would like to know more about you, although I fear that even your past won't make your temper acceptable.”

“Shut. Up,” you told him, pronouncing each letter with excessive definition. “If I tell you of my nightmares, will you tell me of yours?” You were hesitant in asking, playing with the sleeves of your shirt. You knew he was unkind previously when you mentioned his nightmares, and you did not wish to upset him by asking about them again. You saw him stiffen besides you, and quickly looked away in case he grew angry at your question.

“...I will,” was his response, and it made you look back at him with wide eyes. 

“Are you certain?”

“If you keep asking I will not be,” he said quickly, turning to look at you fully.

“Okay,” you said quietly. Okay. You could learn about him, but only if you opened up about your own nightmares. You could do that. You took a deep breath, trying to settle your nerves. The prince was looking at you, waiting for you to begin, and yet you did not feel pressured by his gaze. He seemed to understand your hesitation, and he didn't want to rush the words from your mouth. He wished for you to take your time, because he knew how difficult it was. 

“My nightmares are often one of two ways,” you began, and in between words you chewed at your bottom lip and sought to inflict new sores onto yourself. “Sometimes they’re happy, sometimes they are already frightening. My brother was two years older than I, and his birthday was nearing soon. In my dreams we are sometimes discussing his excitement, because he was at the right age for my father to gift him a new weapon. An upgrade from the wooden one. My brother was very, very excited about that. He told me that if I kept quiet about it, he would teach me how to use it too. Sometimes my dreams start off like that, like they wish to lull me into a sense of comfort. Other times they start off with memories that just bring me pain. Of all the times that I shouted that I hate my brother while I was in a childish rage. I almost prefer those dreams, because then I know that I will be having another nightmare.”

You paused, having twisted the ends of the sleeves so tightly in your palms that the shirt was beginning to tug at your shoulders. 

“My brother died on a night when my parents could not make it home from the neighboring village. Our village was being pillaged by the barbarians, and my brother and I were hiding under the table when Fritjof broke down our door. We weren't the wealthiest of families, but Fritjof just sought destruction. I–I don't know, I don't know if I cried out by accident or if Fritjof just saw us, but when he did there was no doubt that he wanted us both dead. My brother jumped in front of the sword, and hi-his head dropped next to me. I remember Fritjof’s words, what he said to me. ‘Because your scream was so lovely’ he said, ‘I'll let you cradle his head in your hands’.”

By now, your shoulders were shaking, and your voice was breaking with every new word that left your mouth. Your bottom lip was bleeding again, and you blinked quickly to erase the tears that threatened to fall. 

“That is how my nightmares end. Though recently, it has not been my brother being killed. Sometimes his figure shifts into someone else. My mother, my father, Bjarke, Asger. They...they’ve all died in my dreams.” You feared now that more would fall victim to your nightmares. Pirko, Maksim, and perhaps even Loki could all fall prey to your mind.

Loki was silently contemplating all that you had said as you worked to steady your breathing. You wiped the blood from your bottom lip, frowning at the cuts you reopened because of your anxiety. 

“Is that why you are afraid to admit you care about someone?” He asked finally.

“Yes. I was hoping that if I don't admit it, I will never fear anyone else’s death. But my mind knows better than my mouth, and it didn't believe my lies.” 

You went to wipe the blood from your bottom lip again, but Loki gently grabbed your wrist and prevented you from doing so. You gave him a confused glance, and when he put his thumb to you bottom lip, your face ignited into a deep red. He noticed, and rolled his eyes at your reaction, which only made you more embarrassed. “What are yo—?” You stopped mid sentence as you felt the dull pain in your bottom lip disappear, and no longer tasted traces of blood. Your body relaxed once you realized that he was only healing you, and when his thumb was taken away from your lip, you immediately reached to touch it to see if the wound was still there. It was completely gone, and when you pulled your fingers away, not a trace of blood was there.

“That is an awful habit you have,” Loki told you, and you laughed nervously.

“Surely it's better than other habits that could be formed,” you dismissed, not quite seeing why that was all necessary. “You don't have to waste your energy healing my lip, Loki. I will only bite a hole back into it later. It will be a fruitless effort to keep healing it.”

“Perhaps if I keep healing it you will stop doing it to save me the effort,” Loki said, a kind smile on his face. 

You wished he would go back to being who you initially thought he was. Rude, unbearable, someone you didn't want to associate yourself with. You almost preferred that than this Loki, who made you drop your guard and speak about things you normally wouldn't. The way he first was towards you was easier to deal with. You knew how to react to someone who was rude, but were unfamiliar with formulating responses to those who were kind. Even Bjarke an Asger were easier to respond to than Loki. You viewed them as brothers, and so you didn't treat them any differently than you would your brother if he were still alive. Loki was a different scenario. You were often made nervous when talking to him, and it wasn't because he was intimidating. It was quite the opposite. 

“Maybe,” you said after a while of thought, though you didn't believe that the habit would be easily breakable, even if you would prefer your face to not be touched again. “Well,” you said, eager to change the subject from your poor sense of self worth, “I suppose now you know why I will stop at nothing to have Fritjof dead.”

“And if it kills you?”

That was a question you did not need to think about in order to respond. “That does not matter so long as he dies as well. I know that at least my brother’s honor will be upheld in the end, no matter if I am dead or alive.” You paused briefly, looking at Loki from the corner of your eye to see his reaction to your statement, but you refused to give him enough time to interrupt you. “My brother was to start training to be in the vanguard, so when he died, I took his weapon and shield to use. Some way or another, it will be my brother killing Fritjof instead of me. When the mace hits Fritjof, it will be my brother’s kill, not mine.”

“So that is why your mace is too large for you,” Loki commented, and you knew he was merely trying to get you to laugh rather than dwell on your own death. “You should not enter battle with the idea that your death does not matter. If you do succeed in killing Fritjof, be sure you still have the motivation to pull yourself out of battle and to safety. I am not sure I would be able to bring you back to Pirko quickly enough if you were seriously injured.”

That time, you laughed a bit. The thought of Loki going through the effort to bring you back to Pirko was ridiculous. “Perhaps you should learn how to heal faster from her then. I don't think she would appreciate having to heal me for a second time.”

“I will look into that after I am finished teaching her how to hide her magic.” At his sentence, your smile fell and gave away your uncertainty. “You told me your nightmares, so I will tell you mine. And perhaps ease your worries about my motives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of flirting and some new insight into Ove's past.
> 
> The comments on the last chapter really made me laugh, but I'm not promising anything besides more fluff and a LOT more angst. So just prepare yourselves. ;)
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and comments! They make my day.


	20. XX

Despite insisting that you were no longer weary of his motives in regards to Pirko, the prince still thought that you were lying. You should have known that the God of Mischief would have been able to see through your simple lie, but you were still disappointed that he could. You didn't want him to think that you thought negatively of him, because you didn't. You just hesitated because of the story that Pirko had told you. 

“How to start,” Loki mused, twiddling his thumbs. He was weary about telling you about his past; you could tell from the change in his appearance. Despite how calm he wanted to appear to be, he was falling into nervous habits the same way you did. “I am not Thor’s real brother. I am in heart, I suppose, but not in blood. I am not even an Asgardian.”

You tried to hide your shock, but you were perplexed by his statement. “You _look_ like an Asgardian,” you told him, and he chuckled at the childish questioning of his race, as if you didn't truly believe him.

“Yes, but I am of Jotun blood. When I was a baby, Odin ‘rescued’ me when I was abandoned by Laufey. He never once told me of my lineage, and originally intended on using me as a bargain to form peace with Jotunheim. I found out myself when a Jotun seized my wrist and I was not affected by their temperature. My skin turned blue like theirs.”

“You are a Frost Giant?” You asked, slowly comprehending all that he was telling you. He gave you a hesitant nod, but you were still unsure of the truth of his statement. “Are you joking around with me, Loki?”

He was almost offended by your comment, and a deep set frown formed on his thin lips, making you regret what you had asked. “Why would I joke about something I try to hide?” He asked, and you quickly shook your head and apologized. 

“It is just unexpected, that is all,” you said, and at your words he held out his hand for you to look at. Slowly, his skin began to turn blue, and when you looked up into his eyes, they were no longer the enchanting green you were used to, but rather a deep red. “Why do you wish to hide this?”

You knew of the prejudice against Frost Giants, but surely a Prince of Asgard was still a prince no matter his lineage. Loki let out a short bark of laughter that was devoid of any actual humor, and his skin turned back to its usual paleness. “Because that form is frightening for many to look at.”

“I must admit it is shocking for me to learn of this, and I have never seen a Frost Giant before, but you have and never will be frightening to me, no matter your attitude or appearance.” You spoke with both a softness and a confidence.

“You have not seen my full appearance as a Frost Giant, Ove. You cannot say that it will not frighten you.”

If words could bring physical pain, his words would deal lashes against your heart. There was agony in his voice that you had never expected to hear from him, and in his eyes a sorrow you did not know of. “If I ever do see your full appearance as a Jotun, I can swear on my life that it would not frighten me. Whether you are pale or blue, whether your eyes are green or red, it does not matter to me. We both spend our current time hiding who we are.”

“But you are not hiding that you are not _Asgardian_. You are just hiding that you are a woman. I am hiding that I am a _monster._ ” 

“Who has told you that Jotun are monsters?” You asked quietly, determined to somehow persuade him that the person who did so was wrong.

“I never needed to be told. We were at war with the Jotun, but afterwards it was my father that made it clear to me that I was not to be trusted. That is why I am banned from learning those spells. Not because I'm a God of Mischief, but because I am of Jotun blood. I, according to him, am not to be trusted with these spells.” He spoke about his father with restrained malice, and you understood why he would. “Anyone else can learn those spells. Pirko knows them herself, despite only being a child.”

“But you are not like the Jotun Asgard once fought against. There is no blood in you that seeps with destruction and evil. You have been wounded and lied to, Loki, but not just about your race. You’ve been lied to about your character far too often,” you spoke, and when he looked like he was about to argue about it again, you clasped your hand over his mouth. “Stop talking,” you told him. “Stop arguing against this for two minutes and let me speak, and _listen_ to me.”

You removed your hand from his mouth slowly, and he silently watched you, not making an attempt to speak. “I have defended your character a few times now, have I not? I do not need to know all of your past to be able to do so. And I advise you to listen to what I am saying, because we both know how much stress it gives me to talk about emotions other than anger. You are not a monster. A monster would not have hidden my secret, nor would they have gone out of their way to comfort me after a nightmare. They would not have given me a blanket when I fell asleep again, and they would not have taken care of me when I was wounded. They would not have kept others away from me while my bandages were exposed, or try to stitch me up and heal me. They would not have let me on their horse, or helped me first navigate around this village. They would not have expressed concern for my stubbornness, they would not have brought food for me and the children, and they would _not_ be here now, listening to my past while sharing their own.” 

You nervously looked down at your shirt, laughing when you realized you had forgotten an important part. “A monster also would not have lent such a lavish shirt to wear when a foolish woman forgot to pack more than one.”

“Ah, that reminds me that you are supposed to purchase more,” Loki said, and at first you thought he was going to avoid mentioning anything you had said about his kindness. He saw the anger bubble up as you locked your jaw, and he rested his hand on your shoulder. Once more, you felt warmth from his touch, only this time you were unsure if he was healing you or if it was something else. No matter what it was, your anger stopped growing. “I thank you for all of those words, Ove, but you are the only person besides my mother and Thor to ever claim that I am not the monster everyone says I am. I am not worthy of any praise.”

‘You are worthy of more than praise’ is what you wished to say, but your vocal chords would not allow the words to form for fear that he would interpret them differently from how you wanted. 

“Well neither am I,” you said simply. “So I suppose we’re even on that front as well. We have both been called monsters, we both have things we hide, we both suffer from nightmares, and neither of us are apparently worth praising.”

He laughed at how blasé you were about your statement. You found a way to stop arguing with him about how he didn't accept your compliments, and instead you simply reminded him that you were the same as he was, even though you knew he would probably beg to differ. “I believe you are worth _some_ praise,” he said teasingly, moving his hand off of your shoulder. “You are mind numbingly stubborn, but you are far more selfless than anyone I have ever met.”

“Me?” You asked, looking around the room to make sure he wasn't talking to anyone else. “I am selfish. Incredibly so. So selfish that I insist on you accepting my praise so that you can learn to look at yourself differently. Accept my point of view.”

“And how will that benefit you, if you are as selfish as you say?”

“You ask such simple questions sometimes, Loki. It will benefit me because I will no longer have to put up with an insecure friend.” You used the words ‘put up with’ lightly. The word ‘friend’ was not intended in that same way.

Loki was pondering what you had said. There was a distant look in his eyes as he stared at the wall ahead of him, but he wore a small smile. With every passing second you worried that calling him a friend was not something he was comfortable with, and teeth sunk back into your bottom lip as you wished you had called him a comrade instead. Comrade was a word with no extra meaning. Comrades had no emotional bond that was more than shared experiences in battle. Being friends implied much more. It implied talking, sharing, knowing more about each other with each passing day. It implied fondness, as well. And you didn't know if Loki was fond of you. He perhaps just tolerated you.

“A friend?” He asked, and you wanted to swallow your tongue. “Are you sure you are not implying anything more than that, Ove? I will remind you again that you invited me to sleep with you.”

There it was. That god awful smirk again. 

“Shut _up_ , you arse. I did not invite you to sleep _with_ me. In fact, I don't recall it was much of an invite at all! I said you could sleep next to me, if you asked, as a way of getting you to shut up.”

Once more, you were graced with his laughter. The more you heard it, the more you felt as though you never wanted it to stop. It was beginning to become familiar to you, and yet still it brought a surge of happiness forth in your heart that you were not used to. 

“We have been talking for quite a while. You should rest, that way your body is fully ready to go through the healing process again,” he told you.

“If only sleep was something I could look forward to,” you said, pulling the blanket he had given to you close. 

“I haven't—I did not tell you what my nightmares are about,” Loki started, looking like he regretted not being able to tell you sooner.

“You do not need to tell me now if you do not wish, although I will be up for quite some time.”

“I will tell you. You told me yours, after all. It is my Jotun blood that haunts my dreams. I fear that a catastrophe will somehow occur because of it. I am not allowed the throne, quite obviously, but I fear that soon it will be more than Odin that disowns me as a monster. Thor already has his doubts about me, but if my mother were to ever begin to doubt who I am, I do not know what I would do. My nightmares fear that my Jotun blood will cause me to lash out at them. They show me ridding of my mother, and of Thor, and of anyone else who I feel is someone I would wish not to hurt.”

“Your blood does not determine your actions. If that were the case, then every Asgardian would have to be a great warrior, and the spitting image of each other,” you replied, though you understood how his nightmares felt so real for him. “Do you ever find yourself capable of sleeping peacefully, Loki? The last time I was able to sleep without disruption was that night in the tent. It was a relief; like my mind had gone numb and could no longer haunt me.” At this point you had laid yourself back down onto your back, and you stared at the ceiling above you as you spoke.

“On a rare occasion, yes, my nightmares give me a small reprieve.” He refrained from telling you that your peaceful night was due to him. He didn't want to tell you that he had stayed up in order to heal you, but also in order to distract your mind with other thoughts and emotions he knew you had been feeling. 

“Perhaps tonight then, you will sleep peacefully. I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders because I have never spoken about this before.” You paused. “Will you be going back to the inn?” You didn't want him to. His presence put you at ease and assured you that if you were to have any nightmares, he would be there to when you woke and could put your mind back to rest with his voice and his laugh. 

“Are you inviting me to sleep beside you now?” He inquired, and his quirked eyebrows earned an annoyed snort from you. You told him to fuck off, but overall did not deny what he was implying. “I will sleep here as well. In case the brats decide to annoy you in the middle of the night.”

Sure. That was his excuse for staying the night here rather than at the inn. You knew he was staying in order to ease his own worries about what bothers him in the nights. “My hero,” you said sarcastically, sitting up momentarily to offer him the blanket you were using. He shook his head, silently insisting that he had brought it for you. “Thank you, Loki. For both listening to me and talking about yourself.”

He watched as you laid yourself back down, quietly saying that it was not a problem. Your mind raced as soon as your eyes were closed, and instantly you knew that it would be difficult for you to fall asleep again. Loki had added onto the load that you were processing with stories of his childhood and his nightmares. Now you were contemplating just how you could get the trickster to sleep well himself, and you were also unwittingly replaying his laugh and his smiles in your mind. After a while of restlessness, you felt Loki’s hand rest on your forehead. You didn't open your eyes, or question what it was that he was doing. Instead you felt the comforting warmth of his magic again, and found yourself slipping under until you were quietly asleep. 

Only when he was sure you were sleeping soundly did he remove his hand from your forehead. The prince stayed awake for an hour more, being sure to check that he had done enough to allow you to sleep without nightmares attacking you, until he too succumbed to exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that when I have Loki help reader with her nightmares, he's not necessarily controlling her. In the comics, Loki does not have the ability to control other's actions (except with his scepter), but he does possess the ability to hypnotize people depending on their emotions. So I just extended that power as Loki being able to have Ove's mind act on peaceful thoughts rather than on her fear while she sleeps.
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!!


	21. XXI

You woke to hearing Pirko release an unholy sounding groan of frustration. It was so loud that you sat up in shock, rubbing your eyes as you tried to clear your vision. You pushed yourself to your feet, still holding the blanket around yourself as you walked into the other room to see why Pirko was being so loud already. As you peered into the doorway, you spot Maksim sitting patiently in the corner, watching whatever was going on with a grin. In the middle of the room, Loki stood with Pirko, instructing her on how she needed to ‘stop being so stubborn’ if she ever wanted to learn.

“You are not concentrating enough,” Loki scolded the girl, rolling his eyes when she mumbled about how he was an ass. “It is much easier once you learn how to do it. But in order to learn, you need to be able to listen.”

“How am I supposed to hide my magic by just pretending to be a normal person? Things don't work that way,” Pirko quipped.

“Then you are clearly incapable of controlling yourself.” 

The insult made Pirko’s voice catch in her throat as she looked prepared to hit the prince in front of her. To prevent that, as much as you wished to almost let her, you interjected, “I take it that learning to hide your magic is more difficult than you thought?”

“So the sleeping dragon is finally awake?” 

“Where is that new name from, Loki? And why a dragon?” You asked, confused at why Maksim was giggling to himself about it.

“It’s just Pirko’s new nickname for you,” Loki said simply, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to hold back his laughter. 

“You _snore_. Rather loudly at some points. Between that and your angry personality, I thought the name suited you perfectly,” Pirko said, visibly proud of herself for her insult.

You kept a straight face as you tilted your head to look at her better. “Then surely you are aware that dragons can also burn?” You asked her, a false threat in your voice as she pretend shook in her spot. “That's a rather stupid reason to give me the nickname. I wasn't even aware that I snore in the first place.”

“Well you certainly make everyone else aware of it,” Pirko remarked.

“If it may help,” Loki started, “I find it rather suiting and even charming that you don’t give anyone a break from your noise even in your sleep.”

Your nose crinkled, and you grabbed the candlestick next to you and flung it in his direction. Loki caught the candlestick easily, and you frowned with disappointment. “Next time, I'll be sure you can't catch it,” you told him, and he laughed as he placed the candlestick down on another table. 

“You are _interrupting_ , Ove.” Pirko spoke up over Loki’s laughter, her arms crossed in front of her as she wore a snarl on her face. “I'm trying to learn, but I can't do that if you are fatternizing with the Prince.”

“It's _fraternizing_ ,” you and Loki both responded, and you tried to hold back your laughter as Pirko's face grew red with anger and embarrassment. 

“But I will leave if you are alright with it,” you added, dodging a shot of her magic with a grin. “I am going to go find Asger and Bjarke.”

“And put another hole in the wall with your knife?” Loki asked, a knowing look on his face. 

“You heard? I will only do it again if Fiske can't keep his mouth shut.” You paused, your grin spreading even wider. “And any man who knows Fiske knows that he cannot keep his mouth shut for the life of him. But perhaps it’ll be his hand this time, instead of a plum. I'll be back later, to see if you two aren't at each other’s throats.”

As you walked out of the room, Loki called out to you and told you ‘not to make a mess with Fiske’s blood’. You laughed, discarding the blanket onto the floor and leaving the building. You didn’t walk far before you caught sight of Asger and Bjarke speaking to two women. You’ve seen the two flirt with women before, but never for longer than a few minutes before they went off to train or flirt with someone else. But with these women, the smiles on your companion’s faces seemed more genuine and less lustful. You didn't want to interrupt, but of course you had to see who the women they were flirting with were like. 

“Becoming acquainted with the women of Hjarta, are we?” You asked, patting them both on the back as you inserted yourself between them. “My name is Ove, and if these men are at all bothering you, I will drag them back to their rooms,” you told the women, flashing them an uncharacteristically charming smile. 

“Oh, no, they were merely telling us stories of battle,” the redhead said, giggling as Bjarke and Asger both punched you in the shoulders. 

“And of other villages,” the brunette chimed in. 

Hearing them speak and giggle and seeing them bat their eyelashes made you aware that these women were entirely smitten with the men you could only think of as brothers. “So conquest interests you?” You asked the women, now even more curious of them. 

They did not look like they worked in a brothel (you did not even think a brothel in Hjarta existed) and they also didn't seem to have their gaze at all of the wrong places, and yet you still did not know if their interest in Bjarke or Asger was genuine. There was nothing wrong with taking a woman back to the room for a night, of course, but the men beside you seemed more interested in companionship than sex this time around. 

“Conquests interest me a great deal,” the redhead said again, and a genuine smile spread across her lips. “My father has prevented me from learning how to fight, but I do indeed wish to. My friend, Asta, however, finds battles to be foolish.”

“They are _foolish_ only because battles are better fought with the mind and with diplomacy. I would much rather hear them continue with stories about other villages that have not been destroyed. Visiting new places is a conquest; without the blood and gore,” Asta remarked, and yet her eyelashes still bat at Bjarke whenever he looked her way, which was quite often. 

“I could not agree more, my Lady. But unfortunately in times such as these diplomacy is no longer an option. And so you get men like Ove, Asger, and I who have to fight to protect all of Asgard,” Bjarke said, and you felt yourself smirk at being referred to as a man, and also at the way he looked entirely smitten with Asta. 

You went to excuse yourself, to give Bjarke and Asger ample time to flirt with their prospective maidens, but Bjarke placed a hand on your shoulder, and you knew from his grip that he wanted to talk. “If you would excuse us for just a moment,” Bjarke said to the women, smiling as he led you away from them. “Asger told me you are being healed. Is that where you were last night?”

You carefully took his hand off of your shoulder. “Yes. I wished to stay with her considering she is only a child. To protect her, in case anything happened. My apologies for not telling you about it, but I didn't have the energy to travel back again. Apparently being healed takes a lot out of me as well.”

“What does the kid want from you in return for all of this? There's got to be a price you need to pay.”

“The price, Asger, is nothing more than what I already intended. She wants Fritjof’s head just as much as I.” You paused, collecting your thoughts. “And Loki is helping me repay her by teaching her how to hide her magic. So that if Fritjof comes back, she won't be harmed.”

“And did you offer that, or did he?” Bjarke asked.

“He offered it. And I will speak no more about it, because it is now a deal between her and him. Trust me, if he wished to harm her she would be able to harm him twice more. I've never seen a child so fiery in my life.”

“Can't be as fiery as you surely were,” Asger laughed, just happy that you were being healed by someone, and that you would be able to fight again without it being a death sentence. 

You smiled at him, and looked over to the women who were so dutifully waiting for the two brave men to return to them. “You are keeping ladies waiting,” you reminded them, clicking your tongue and shaking your head. “Not very gentlemanly of you to do so. Sassa and Asta are not who you usually flirt with, but I _do_ like them better. Perhaps you can make wives out of them one day. Have two lovely faces waiting for you when you get back home safely.”

“Aye, and what about you, Ove? I'm not sure that innkeeper is going to wait for you just because you used her blanket,” Bjarke asked, though the question seemed to be at the tip of Asger’s tongue as well.

“I do not need a woman to wait for me to return safely. I would rather save someone from the pain in case I do not return at all. You two, however, will be returning, and when you do, those ladies will shower you with compliments and attention. Something the two of you both _clearly_ crave.” You mumbled the last part, laughing as your companions both grunted in annoyance. “Go talk with them more, but please save time for me later so that we can spar. Without the women. I wouldn't want them to be disappointed when you lose to me.”

 

You truly did not know how you ended up in a pub with Asger, Bjarke, their women, and one extra only a few hours after your previous conversation. You could retrace the events in your mind: you found them flirting, mentioned sparring, left them to their own devices for a while, ended up sparring and beating them, and somewhere along the line you ended up in the pub, drinking cheap ale with not nearly enough alcohol content to prepare you for the afternoon’s events. You could handle the pub, you could handle your companions, and you could handle the ladies they were flirting with. There was only one problem, and it was that the one extra of the group was also a lady, one that Sassa apparently thought you would be _interested_ in.

Which, quite honestly, you were not. There was nothing unattractive about the woman. She had blonde hair that you were envious of because it was clean and unknotted, and her light brown eyes were clear as day. No, she was not unattractive at all, but you still had trouble being near her because it was clear she was attracted to you more than you wished her to be. Her name was Eira, and she was currently leaning against you with a smirk on her face. 

“Ove,” she cooed, taking your glass out of your hand to distract you from drowning away your problems. “Can you tell me a story of recent battle? Bjarke and Asger seem to have so many and yet you do not speak to me about them as they do to Sassa and Asta.”

“You don't want to hear stories of my battles, my lady. I'm afraid talking about them makes me far too angry,” you lied, carefully moving her hand away from your cup to steal it back. 

“Come on, Ove. You'd have a lot to say about war to us. What's the difference between telling it to us or telling it to the woman?” Asger asked, and you smiled through your teeth.

“I don't wish to speak about it at this time, Asger,” you said, and your breath hitched nervously as Eira walked her fingers up your chest. If she felt anything out of sorts, she could voice her surprise and you would be found out. 

“Oh, Ove, I only wanted to hear about how brave of a warrior you are. People have been saying that you are one of the bravest. You both injured yourself and rode with the Prince of Darkness on his horse without fear.”

“Yes, because there is nothing to fear about Loki, nor is he a Prince of Darkness, as everyone says he is,” you said, removing her hand from your chest when she paused for too long at the edge of your bandages.

“Have you injured your chest too, Ove?” She asked quietly, and you nodded, though you felt like you were going to throw up if she did not believe your lie.

“The one healing me said that bandaging my chest as well will help keep the wounds well compressed,” you lied, stiffening as she leaned up to whisper in your ear.

“I could help you replace those bandages if you wish me too.”

“There is no need for that,” a voice said, and you smiled when you recognized it to be your favorite devil. “He has already replaced his bandages earlier today, and it is not necessary to do so again.”

“O-Oh! I'm sorry, my Prince,” Eira said, retreating back into her real seat and away from you as the so called Prince of Darkness approached. 

“There is no need to be sorry. It was a mere misunderstanding,” Loki said softly, but underneath his smile and sweet words there was a threat to be found. 

You slid off of your seat, nodding your head in Eira’s direction. “I am sorry to end the night so soon, my lady, but I have business to attend to,” you pardoned yourself, pausing only to whisper in Bjarke’s ear and knowing that he would pass on the info to Asger. “Please do not bring a woman to flirt with me next time. I appreciate the sentiment but I cannot be distracted. You and Asger are enough of a distraction already, and _that_ distraction is a welcome one.”

But when you were finished speaking to Bjarke, you turned and noticed that Eira had stood up from her own spot and was making her way towards you again. “If you would like, I could always meet back up with you later on?” She offered.

“No,” you breathed, visibly stiffening the moment she placed her hand on your shoulder again. “I have no interest.” You ducked away from her touch, walking towards the door where Loki was still standing. He stepped out of the way to let you pass him, no longer smiling at the situation you were put in. 

Loki followed behind you, but stopped when he realized that Bjarke had followed as well. The man walked past the prince, and straight to you. “Ove.” When you did not look back, he tried again. “ _Ove_. I am sorry. I had thought that you needed to loosen up a bit. Asta and Sassa know Eira, and I took their word when they said that Eira was a nice woman. I did not realize she would turn out the way she was.”

“It is fine, Bjarke. I just don't want to loosen up in that way. I do not need to flirt with a woman to have a good time,” you said, and while your words were clear, your mind was whirring. At any point, with anything you said, you felt that Bjarke would be able to see right through you. “I wish to drink with just you and Asger next time. You two are good company, I do not need an extra. And my taste in woman is less promiscuous than she is.”

At that, Bjarke frowned, glancing back at the pub briefly. “She is definitely not at all similar to you,” he admitted. “At the next village we stop at, Asger and I will treat you to the best ale we can find as an apology.”

You grinned and laughed at that, pleased that Bjarke understood your troubles (if not fully). “I will be taking you up on that offer, and this time we will see just how many drinks it takes for _you_ to fall on your ass.” 

“I would not fall on my ass from a few drinks, Ove. I could even outdrink Asger, and he is nearly twice the size of me. Outdrinking you will not be a challenge.”

“Bjarke, you always talk like you are superior to me in everything but battle. I am not someone who quits, and I will not quit so long as there is still ale to drink.” Partial lie. You hated the taste of ale, but if you could prove Bjarke wrong, you would be able to swallow it.

“I have to say I am on Bjarke’s side on all of this,” Loki said, and you frowned at the opportunity he took to finally speak up. “I cannot picture you outdrinking anyone.”

“Do you drink, Loki?” You asked him, turning to face him. “Because I bet I could outdrink you as well.”

Loki grinned, exchanging a glance with Bjarke. “I hate to disappoint you, but I am incapable of becoming drunk. You’d be drinking until your death.”

The scowl that fell on your face was similar to the scowl you were during battle. Loki couldn't get drunk. You couldn't outdrink him. You couldn't even try to beat him, even after already claiming that you could. “Well that's a load of bullshit, if you ask me. Thor can get drunk, but not you?” You paused, watching Loki shift and raise his hands as magic swirled around them. “Right, magic,” you scoffed, though now you came to the conclusion that it had to do with his race more than his magic. 

You sighed, placing your hands on your hips. “Well I can still outdrink Bjarke and Asger, so that counts for something,” you announced, and Bjarke found that so funny that his laughter brought tears as well. “Laugh now while you can, Bark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious, do you guys have a guess as to who will confess first (if they ever do?) Loki or Ove?
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!


	22. XXII

“So you really can't get drunk?” 

“For the fifth time, Ove, no, I can't become drunk no matter the liquor.” Loki paused, contemplating that statement. “Or at least any liquor that I know of. Perhaps there is a Jotun liquor that would affect me. I do not know.”

You had returned with Loki back to the building where the children were all staying, insisting that you wanted to spend a few more hours with them before you had to part ways. On the way, you had scrutinized Loki’s previous statement, finding it truly outrageous that he could not become intoxicated because of his race. The two of you were sitting in the same spot you both slept, legs out in front of you as your backs leaned against the wall. 

“Well we should find a liquor that can get you drunk,” you told him. “That way I can outdrink you then.”

“You begin to become forgetful even after a few drinks of water down ale. You have asked me about this five times, and now you wish to search for alcohol to get me drunk?” Loki looked over at you, and watched as your whole face scrunched up when he said you were mildly intoxicated. “Besides, I am certain that if an alcohol is out there that can intoxicate me, it would certainly cause you to be a bumbling mess after one sip.”

“I could hold any liquor,” you said stubbornly, knowing that you certainly couldn't. “The only reason I made myself tipsy tonight is because Eira wouldn't stop whispering in my ear and batting her eyelashes in my direction.”

Loki sighed, leaning his head back. “Yes, that must have been truly _aggravating_ for you, to have a beautiful woman flirting with you,” he huffed, all with insincere drama. “You should control your reactions better. You could have easily given away your position as a woman if that interaction continued any longer.”

“I was worried,” you said quickly. “And I'm already mocking myself in my mind for being so careless in my body language. What type of man stiffens up at the mere touch of a woman?” 

“Luckily there are some who do. Your companions will probably associate your reactions with the nature of that woman anyway, rather than assume it was due to anything else.”

“Is there any magic that can help with disguising myself as a man?” You don't know why you had never asked him that before. You still thought your voice was convincing, so much so that now speaking to Loki in your regular voice gave your throat a much needed break (despite swearing you wouldn't use it), but if there was magic that could help more, it would probably be worth it. 

Loki seemed to think that the question was comical, however. “None that you would enjoy,” he told you with a chuckle. “Or that would not take a lot of time and effort on my part. You are doing fine disguising yourself as is, if I were to make any changes, people would most likely notice them.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you sighed, and Loki chimed in with an ‘again’ that made you push on his shoulder. “Did Pirko gain control of her magic enough to hide her presence?”

“She did, she only needs to make sure she can focus on it. It is night that will be a problem, as I am not sure she will be able to hide her magic whilst she dreams. I did as much as I could to teach her though, and she went on to share the lessons with the other children.”

You couldn't help but notice the way Loki spoke of Pirko. There was a restrained fondness in his voice, as though the girl had impressed him with her abilities and perhaps even more with her sarcasm. Pirko was not someone you could speak passively to. She asserted herself as someone who needed to be listened to, and who needed to be helped as well. Loki seemed genuinely happy that he managed to teach the young sorceress to control her magic, and you saw somewhere in him that he was relieved as well. With her new knowledge, she will be better equipped to ride out the rest of the war.

Although you didn't believe that the barbarian prince would return to this village, there was still a chance that the children’s parents would not be strong enough to keep silent about them. And if that was going to be the situation they found themselves in, then Pirko and the other children would be able to hide, or so you hoped. “And the spells? Did she give you the book you needed?”

Loki nodded. “I have already committed the spells to memory,” he told you, and your brows raised in surprise.

“Was it worth it, then?” You asked. “Was it truly something that was being hidden from you all this time? I just don't understand how such important spells could be so easy to learn and memorize.”

“One day, perhaps you’ll see the spells I taught myself. They’ve taught me more skills than I previously had, and I'm better equipped now for this war. They aren't exactly important spells, or spells that were difficult to learn. I was just banned from learning them because I'm considered to be a threat by my father.” 

Making him speak about the Allfather again was a mistake. Every time the man was mentioned, Loki became stiff and uncomfortable, and his words became sharper. You recognized now that that resentment was rightfully founded. When you went to apologize for bringing his father up, Loki spoke before you. “I also learned a few healing techniques from Pirko as well.”

“But you can already heal yourself,” you commented, not seeing why he would be interested in learning anything more.

Loki sighed, but when you looked at him more closely his lips had curved back into a smile. “That is true, but I also happen to have a friend who is prone to injuring herself.”

You stared at him for a while, your mouth forming words that you couldn't find with your voice. Finally, just a quiet ‘oh’ escaped you, as you once more became flustered in this man’s presence. “I wouldn't consider myself prone to injury,” you said slowly, pushing your hair out of your face as he laughed. “But thank you. It is good to know that I will not have to travel back here every time an arrow pierces through me.”

“Well hopefully there won't be anymore arrows piercing through you. I haven't been able to put the new techniques into practice, after all. It would be a lot of pressure on me if you were to severely injure yourself again.”

“You kept me alive for a few days before we came here,” you reminded him. That was an accomplishment if you had anything to say about it. 

“And yet if it was any longer I fear I would not have been able to.”

You shifted to turn your gaze back away from the prince, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping an arm around them. The words he spoke gave a similar warmth you felt whenever he healed you. He could provide you that warm comfort with just his voice, with just that inkling of caring that he could portray. You could not think clearly with him by your side. You were used to the haze of rage, but the haze he created in your mind was dizzying and unlike anything you were used to. Rage you could manage. You could take out anger through violent actions and jarring words. This you did not know _how_ to manage. Hitting Loki would not put you at ease, nor would telling him to leave you alone. 

“There is no need to fear that,” you said finally, “as I don't intend on death taking me until after I am sure that Fritjof is burning.”

“You keep mentioning that,” Loki said, and you felt the pressure of his gaze even as you trained your eyes on the floor in front of you. “You said once earlier that I would never see you again after the war is over. Why do you talk as though you will let yourself fall as soon as your goal is achieved?” His knuckles brushed against your jaw and you lifted your teeth off of your lip at his reminder. 

“I wish to go home, after this war is through. I wish to tell my parents that I have protected their son’s honor, and that now he can rest in Valhalla. But after that, I would like nothing more than to see my brother again.” The way he was looking at you was beginning to bother you. With every small glance you took at him you could see that there was concern forming in his eyes, and you did not feel yourself worthy of it. “I am not saying I will take my life,” you said harshly, sucking in a deep breath as you tried to compose your thoughts. “But I also do not think I will live. I have hurt too many and have stolen too much, and now I am committing treason. In some way, death will grasp onto me as payment.” 

Loki, at first, did not know what he wanted to ask you. He was not put at ease by the way you told him that you would not take your own life, even though you intended your words to do so. You still talked of death, whether it would be you doing it or someone else, and that was still unsettling. “Do you think I will tell others that you are a woman?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I no longer think that. Or I try not to. But I know that somehow, others will find out, and when that happens, I won't fight against my execution unless Fritjof is not dead.”

“I will fight against it for you then.”

“What?”

Loki pushed himself up and stood in front of you, looking down at you and your bewilderment. “Have you forgotten that I am a prince of Asgard? I may not be entirely well liked by my father or by the rest of the realm, but I am _still_ a prince. And my mother has always had a soft spot in her heart for people who are treated as outcasts. She would probably find you brave and deserving of an honor, not of an execution. And if, perhaps, she didn't think that way, I would convince her to.” 

As you fumbled with your words and tried to tell him that such a thing would be unnecessary, Loki simply held one of his hands out for you to take. He cut your stuttering off, but you weren't angry at him for it. “We cannot stay here again tonight as we are leaving early in the morning. Go say goodbye to the little brats.”

You let him help pull you up, and before you could remove your hand from his, he smiled and you felt warmth surge through you again. With each and every touch and interaction with the prince, you were beginning to wonder if magic had anything to do with the way you felt that warmth, or if perhaps it was something else. You dropped his hand, and went into the other room to bid farewell to all of the children.

When you entered the room, they knew why you were there. The moment they saw how your lips fell into a frown, you heard the fast padding of feet before feeling Maksim’s arms around you. Pirko sat on her bed, kicking her legs back and forth idly as she watched the younger boy cling to you tightly. 

“I am not going to be gone for forever, Maksim,” you told him, wrapping your arms back around him. “I will be sure that we stop here again on the way home. Perhaps if we stop at another village I will even bring you all back something new. And your parents, as well, will come back with us all. I'll tell them all of how strong each and every one of you are.”

“I am afraid,” Maksim whispered to you, his voice muffled by your shirt. 

“You don't need to be. Pirko learned how to hide her magic, and she will keep helping you to be able to do so as well. This is all temporary, Maksim. As frightening as all of this is, you _will_ make it through.” As you soothed Maksim’s worries, Pirko stood and walked over to you.

“I never got to heal your final wound,” she said, and you quickly waved your hand.

“It is not an issue. You taught Loki how to, correct? I will make him practice those new skills on me,” you said with a laugh, hearing Loki tap his foot on the ground from the other room as a response. 

Pirko didn't look fully convinced that Loki would be able to heal you properly. “You should still be careful. Healing you means that I am forcing your body to put itself back together. Don't expect to be able to run into battle like normal. You’re going to tire quickly, and if you haven't learned anything from this predicament, you could overwork yourself easily.”

“No one ever has very much faith in my self preservation skills,” you muttered, finally letting go of Maksim. “I cannot thank you enough, however. You healed me, and you also helped Loki as well. I’ll be back in a few months, but if not, I'll make sure someone else comes and checks in on you all.” Behind you, Loki quietly suggested that you finally return to the inn for food and rest. “Yeah, right,” you said, giving Maksim one last hug and saying goodbye to the rest of the children.

The moment your feet were out the door, your fear for the children returned. 

“I sincerely doubt that Fritjof will be returning to this village anytime soon, Ove. They will be alright,” Loki reassured you, knowing your anxious habits better than even yourself. “And if, for whatever reason they end up in a bad situation, Pirko is well equipped to deal with it.”

“Pirko is just a little girl, Loki. Dealing with it should not be a reality for her.”

“And yet dealing with trauma was something both you and I had to deal with when we were younger too.” 

You had nothing to say in return, because all you would be able to express was more worry. Loki at one point during the walk suggested he teleport you both back to the inn, but you insisted you wanted to walk. Teleporting not only made you nauseous, but you wanted to walk through the streets of Hjarta one last time. You wanted to acknowledge those who were left without homes, and you wanted to remind yourself of their misfortune. Doing so filled you with more determination than you had started off with at the beginning of the war. Then, you were only fighting for selfish reasons. But now you were fighting for a village who lost its spirit, and for children who lost their families, and for friends who you wished to protect. 

“Being here has only increased my stubbornness tenfold, you know,” you said, glancing over at Loki as he raised an eyebrow as a gesture for you to continue. “Now I owe those children a debt, and I also owe it to someone to stay alive, for the sake of reminding them that they are more than they think they are.”

“So long as that someone can still remind you of the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!!
> 
> Here's the current tally for who you guys think will confess first:
> 
> Ove: 3  
> Loki: 1


	23. XXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCHEDULE UPDATE: Due to me not having a lot of time anymore, I'll only be uploading once a week. Every Wednesday!

The army left at dawn, when the sun was only barely peeking over the mountains. Every warrior and horse was freshly energized, as the three day rest at Hjarta was greatly needed for the morale of the group. Amongst food and rest, most all of the soldiers were now carrying the weight of what had been done to the village on their shoulders. It was not their fault, however it would be if they could not stop Fritjof. If they could not stop the barbarian army, they would have failed Hjarta, their homes, and all of Asgard. 

Talk stopped the moment hooves met with the mountain path, and no one wanted to be the one to break the chilling silence. There was no noise but birds and horses, and the breath of those around you. Traveling on the mountains was dangerous, and not just because of tricky terrain. The woods surrounding the small paths you followed were easy hiding places for enemies. The thin paths meant it would be easy to knock a rider off of their horse, or a horse off of the mountain entirely. And if there were to be an attack, there would be no room to fight unless you wanted to lose your footing and fall to your death. 

No soldier wanted to open their mouths to risk making too much noise. It needed to be silent. The silence allowed for closer listening, so that every rustle of the trees could be scrutinized until it was deemed harmless. Even Fiske was silent, and when you glanced over at him his body was stiff with cautiousness. Most everyone in the army was anxiously looking back and forth between the bushes and trees, but you could not find a reason to be so nervous. If there were to be an attack, you were confident in your abilities to act as you normally would and be able to remove yourself from the situation.

Not even the last battle or the remaining wound could make you pose as though you were weakened by your nerves. And so while your comrades were all fearing the unexpected, you sat comfortably on Halvor and twiddled with his reins. Bjarke and Asger were as serious as everyone else, and when you looked over to Thor, even he was completely still in his spot. You knew he wasn't still due to fear. No, you haven't seen Thor fear much at all throughout the war so far. He was still to keep quiet, to set an example for the rest of the soldiers as their leader. 

Second in command, however, was not sitting with the same seriousness as his brother. The Trickster was sitting comfortably in his seat, and even from a few horses back you could see how he was dull in his boredom. As you watched him, there were occasionally brief moments in which you could see a small flash of magic in his hands. You could not tell what it was he was doing, but there was a smirk on his face when he looked around him that told you that perhaps he knew something everyone else did not.

You wondered if he could feel the presence of enemies through his magic? Surely the God of Mischief would have something up his sleeve to allow him to do that. He did alert Thor last time of enemies, after all. But when you kept staring at his form and trying to decipher what it was that he was entertaining himself with, you could not figure it out. That is until he told you exactly what it was through telepathy.

_Was sleeping next to me the other night not enough to satisfy you, Ove? If you keep staring I may be tempted to grant you a closer look._

Your back went straight and your eyes widened at the invasion of your own mind. He had done this once before, only now you couldn't respond with shock at his actions because you would break the important silence around you. When the initial shock parted ways, you narrowed your eyes at the raven haired prince and sneered. 

_I don't want a closer look of you, Loki. The other night was close enough._ You swore you could see him trying not to snicker at your cold response.

_That is quite unfortunate, seeing as I would wish for the opportunity to take a closer look at you._

You gawked, face lighting up into embarrassed flames. Your grip on Halvor’s reins tightened and your face screwed up tightly for a brief moment before you caught sight of Bjarke and Asger giving you a look. You returned to a neutral expression, giving them an embarrassed smile to try and play it off as something else, even when your cheeks were still freshly pink. 

_I’ll allow you a closer look of my fist when I punch you in the face, if that would please you_ , you mocked, completely aiming to at least try and punch him, if you could get close enough to him once you were off of this godforsaken path. 

_Well perhaps after you injure my face, I can have you tend my bruises as I did for you._

The fact that he had a response ready to fire back at everything you said irritated you. It was rare that you couldn't outsmart someone in a battle of wits, but Loki was surely your best competitor. And while it was aggravating in times such as this, it was also enticing to have such a challenger around. Rather than responding to Loki this time around, you stayed silent. You knew he was talking to you to entertain himself from this boring ride, and if he wanted entertainment from you, he would not get it anymore because of his comments. 

After a few minutes, he seemed to realize that you did not wish to respond to him anymore. He settled back onto Casimir’s back and just succumbed to his boredom. In any other scenario, Loki always resembled a man of royal descent. He was tall, slim, muscular, and his reserved smiles and posture always made him seem more of a true prince than Thor. But when you looked at him now, you couldn't help but let out a silent laugh at how he appeared. He much more resembled the child he told you stories about as he sulked in his seat because of your silent treatment. Now you could better see how he went around tripping women and pouring drinks on others purely because he was _bored._

 

It wasn't until an hour later that Thor deemed it safe enough to begin conversation again. The two uncomfortable hours of silence were finally over, and now you could hear the resumed gossip of the soldiers around you.

“I could have sworn I heard someone while we were on that path.”

“I think my horse would toss me right off the mountain if anyone were to attack.”

“I'm so happy I can talk again.”

You rolled your eyes at their responses, shifting your gaze over to Asger and Bjarke. They, too, were just as happy to be able to talk again, except they were far more bearable than the rest of the army. “Did neither of you piss your pants in fear of an enemy attack?” You asked them, and they both laughed sarcastically in return.

“There was a valid reason for us being silent, Ove. If we were attacked it would have been much harder to fight,” Bjarke, ever the sensible man, responded.

“It's _still_ disappointing that neither of you did,” you murmured, shaking your head slowly. “I forgot to ask earlier, but how was saying a temporary farewell to your ladies?”

Asger frowned at the mention of the women, and your expression softened a bit when you saw just how much he already regretted leaving Hjarta behind. “I wanted nothing more than to take Sassa home to meet my mother immediately.”

“And part of me wished far more to stay with Asta,” Bjarke added.

“Well, did you ask for their hands then? Either of you?” You asked, curious as to how serious the two were taking this.

“I did,” Asger said, and you blinked in surprise. Of the two of them, you thought for sure that Bjarke would have been the one to ask for his lady’s hand in betrothal. But he didn't speak up to say he did, and when you glanced at him, he gave you a small shake of his head. “I told her I'd take her home with me on the way back. She has no one to stay with besides Asta. She has no family left because of Fritjof.”

“That's very kind of you, Asger,” you said quietly, turning to Bjarke for his own explanation. “Why didn't you ask Asta for her hand if you wished to stay with her so badly?”

A look was exchanged between Asger and Bjarke, and it was then that you realized that Bjarke had not even mentioned this to Asger. Asger was just as curious as you were, and Bjarke seemed to be having difficulty explaining why he chose not to promise Asta he would marry her. 

“What you said to me,” Bjarke started, a solemn smile on his face, “about how you didn't want to leave anyone waiting on you in case you didn't come back. I was thinking about that. I can't promise Asta a better life if I do not know where life will lead me. I talked to her about it, though. She told me that so long as I am breathing, she will be mine and I will be hers. But if I do not return, and if she hears from Asger that I am in Valhalla, she will move on. I didn't want to tie her down with the weight of a marriage when things such as that might not come. She has a more pessimistic view than Sassa does, anyway. Asta likes her freedom, and I will grant her that.”

Talking about it to Asger and you made Bjarke a melancholy man. Between sentences his throat constricted, as though he was holding back words he wished to say but could not express. Within only three days, Bjarke had formed a bond with a woman that he did not want to let go of, but did not know how to hold on to. Asger promised his return to Sassa, but Bjarke could not promise that to Asta. Because of what _you_ had said. In a way, you felt guilty. Perhaps if you hadn't said anything about your feelings on the matter, Bjarke would have asked for Asta’s hand. 

You opened your mouth to apologize, but Bjarke saw your intent and raised his hand to stop you. “It is not something for you to feel bad about, Ove. It was something that I needed to be told, because I was fighting with myself about it anyway. Your words about it all put me at ease. It hurts to not have Asta’s hand, and yet I know that it is better this way for me and for her.”

“This will make it all a much sweeter homecoming then when you return with Asger to take her hand in a few months,” you told him, smiling and leaning over on Halvor to give him a comforting pat on his shoulder. “Those are two lucky women. Out of all the men in this army you two are truly the most deserving of happiness.” 

“You’re in quite the good mood today, Ove. You have been since you were healed,” Asger commented, and you knew he was hinting at something more than that.

“Hjarta was my father’s home,” you told them. “Upon arriving I thought that the village he grew up in was completely destroyed. But when meeting the girl who healed me, and when seeing how you two found a hidden happiness there, I realized that my father’s stories were not entirely discarded. Hjarta is still a village of hope. The only thing that has changed is its exterior. I think that gives me good reason to be a little more energetic.”

The conversation continued quietly until you realized that you could not tell them more about your experiences in Hjarta. You could not tell them about the other children, or about how they are also all sorcerers, and you could not tell them about your discussions with Loki or about how he learned healing techniques for the sake of you. Throughout speaking you realized that that was what you really wished to talk about. You wanted to talk about Loki’s kindness to the children, and to you. You wanted to tell them about how you didn't mind when Loki flirted even when you acted like you did. You wanted to tell them that Loki had called you a friend.

But you could not tell them any of that because you were a _man_ , and any risk of revealing yourself as a woman was not worth it. Everything Loki said to you was your own secret, between only you and him. Everything you said to him was the same. And while normally secrets were what you were comfortable with, this one almost hurt to keep. You were more and more conflicted as you went on, twisting your stories to leave Loki mainly out of them. You were not ashamed of responding to Loki with an open heart. You were ashamed that it had to be a secret, and that you couldn't quite figure out where you stood with him, or where you _wanted_ to stand with him. 

You were so conflicted in your thoughts that your stories became muddled with missing details, and when you tried to blame it on how so much had happened, you failed to notice how Casimir had slowed down. 

_You’re leaving out all of the grand details involving me, Ove? That is quite rude._

“Sorry, Bjarke, Asger, I have something I need to take care of in a moment,” you told them, whipping your head around to watch as Loki slowed down at the clearing near the lake. Thor wanted to give the horses a brief rest, which gave you a perfect opportunity to attempt to punch Loki in the face as you had said you would. 

You pulled Halvor up near the lake, jumping off of him and letting go of his reins to allow him to get a drink of water and cool down. You waited silently, watching as Loki slid off of his horse and led him to the water. It was then that your smirk grew, and as Loki leaned over to move his horse’s reins, you ran towards him. 

“Loki!” You called, successfully getting him to turn around to look at you. You laughed as he did so, balling your hand up into a fist and swinging for his cheek—

Only to be immediately stopped by the palm of his hand on your face. He stepped to the side of you, and your fist hit air as you stumbled forward to the lake. You yelped in surprise, trying to find your footing to prevent yourself from falling head first into the water. Loki’s palm moved away from your face, and he swiftly grabbed onto the collar of your shirt before your body could smash into the water’s surface. 

“I must admit that I did get a closer look at your fist, just as you had promised me,” the prince crooned, and you both loved and hated the way he laughed when you spun yourself back around to face him. 

“Next time I'll be sure you can feel it too, you snake.” 

As the two of you exchanged broad grins and playful jeers, you could both see and hear the confusion that spread through the army around you. Thor stood and watched you with wonderment, his mouth pulled into a large smile as he leaned over to the Warriors Three and gestured to the curious sight that was his brother laughing. But despite being able to hear questions in the air, you did not care in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ove's becoming a little more aware of her feelings for Loki. And Thor's beginning to notice something too. ;)
> 
> Current tally for who you think is going to confess first:
> 
> Loki: 3  
> Ove: 3  
> Fritjof: 1


	24. XXIV

After a break near the lake, the army had set back out again towards the next village. You rode again until sunset, when Thor announced that it was best to rest for the night and leave early in the morning. On the ride to your resting stop, you asked Thor what the next plan of attack was. The God of Thunder told you that the Allfather had informed him of Fritjof’s movements. He was moving further south, and presumably had kept the sorcerers alive. 

That was both a good and a bad thing. You were happy they were alive, because now there was a greater chance of you being able to fully uphold your promise to the children left behind in Hjarta, but you were growing increasingly worried about how those sorcerers could be used against Asgard. There was only one sorcerer in the Asgardian army at the moment, and while you knew Loki was powerful and not a force to be reckoned with, you did not know if he would be able to hold his all against fifteen or so others. His magic was strong, strong enough to make others worried about his power, but that did not mean he wouldn't tire himself out in battle against them. Fritjof could easily manipulate them, hang their lives over their heads and remind them that if they _don't_ fight, they will be killed. You knew each and every one of those men and women would want to make it home to their children, but would they risk all of Asgard’s safety to do so? 

“Ove, may I have a moment?” 

You looked away from Halvor’s mane, stiffening a bit when you gave Thor a curt nod. “What is it that you need to talk about, Prince Thor?” His title slipped off your tongue in an unusual way. By now, you were used to speaking to both princes informally. But something about Thor’s tone made you worried for what it was he was going to say to you.

“Let us take a walk, away from the camp for a while,” Thor told you, and when he spotted your apprehension he gave you a friendly smile. “It is nothing grave, Ove. You need not worry.”

His words did not reassure you. You gave Halvor one last pat on his side as you walked past, shrugging your shoulders at Asger and Bjarke when they silently questioned what it was that Thor needed you for. Much to your dismay, Thor did not start talking while on your walk. You followed him further into the field and further away from the campsite, and not a single word slipped from his mouth. He just looked straight ahead, not rushed to speak until you were far enough away from everyone else.

Finally, you spoke. “Is this about me attempting to punch Loki?” Why you would ask such a silly question was beyond you. “Because he was not the least bit angry about it, and he expected it.” 

Thor laughed at your question, and it told you right then and there that that was not at all why he was wanting to speak with you. “It is not about that, per say. In fact, I almost wished you did punch him. It would have been quite entertaining.” After a nervous laugh from you, Thor’s expression turned more serious. “I am talking to you about your injuries. I did not ask this before we left because I knew that either way you would find your way back to the army. But now I must ask, and I expect you to be honest about the state of them.”

“All are healed,” you lied, staring directly at him as you did so in hopes that would make your words more convincing.

“I would have thought that your friendship with my brother would have taught you how to lie better.”

“I'm not—” The look he gave you made you think twice about lying to him again. “Only one wound is left unhealed, and that is not a lie. It is not deep though, so there is no reason for me to be unable to fight.”

“I don't intend on sending you home. Worse fighters than you have fought with worse injuries. But I have seen you fight and I know you are reckless. So I am reminding you not to be foolish. Take it easy the next time we have to fight.”

“Foolish,” you scoffed, turning your nose up at the familiar word. “Loki and you are not blood brothers and yet you still use the same language.” As Thor’s silence sank in, you realized what you had just revealed to him. 

“You know then,” Thor said, and you nodded even though he didn't pose it as a question. He laughed boisterously then, and you stared up at him in confusion. “I am surprised he told you, though perhaps I shouldn't be after witnessing him _laugh_ with genuine humor at your attempt to punch him in the face.” You stopped walking as Thor turned towards you, a broad smile on his face. “Thank you for being a friend to my brother, Ove. He needed it, and perhaps you did too.” 

“Ah, yeah,” you said quietly, trying to remind yourself that currently, you were a man, and this was one of Thor’s talks that you so desperately tried to avoid. You wondered when it would turn to a talk of liquor and women. “I think he just needed someone to stop treating him like he’s going to murder them.”

“Our mother always said he just needs a woman to keep his mind at bay. But no ordinary woman would ever be able to keep Loki content.” 

“I shall be his wingman then. Maybe I'll be able to find someone who will be able to,” you joked, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation now that your prediction was coming true. “Was there anything else you wanted to speak to me about, Prince Thor? I don't see why we had to walk all the way out here in order to have this discussion.”

“As frank as ever,” Thor huffed, his smile slowly dropping from his face. “I need to address the message I received from my father. As you know, he specified that this war was only to be fought by men, in order to limit casualties, but also to have capable warriors still left at their homes. The women of the Asgardian army are guarding their villages, rather than being out here. My father has recently been informed by Lady Sif that Fritjof is more cruel in his attacks than ever. He is not needlessly slaughtering anymore. He is targeting those who have children. Mothers and fathers. But he is leaving the children, and he is not attacking those who are childless so long as they don't get in his way.”

“But why leave orphans?” You could not wrap your mind around this twist in Fritjof’s cruelty. You had known him as the monster who killed your brother; a child. For him to be leaving children unscathed but alone seemed like an odd change of pace. 

“Frightened children are easier to control than adults. He is preying on their weakness.”

“And why are you telling me this and not the others? Why is this something that I need to know specifically?”

“It is not a matter of that aspect. But along with that change in behavior, my father has decided that Fritjof is to be taken back to the capital _alive_ ,” Thor said, his news leaving you grasping for words that wouldn't sound too harsh.

“Why alive?” You asked, voice becoming more curt as your chest rose and fell increasingly fast. “Why should we leave the bastard alive when he would do us better in the ground?”

Thor looked you over briefly. It was just a quick eye movement, and yet you knew he was calculating how to respond to you so that you wouldn't grow any angrier. You would not lash out at Thor, but he didn't know that. Perhaps he expected you to, considering your reputation. Perhaps he was telling you this alone so that you would not make a scene in front of everyone else. 

“I do not know why my father wishes it this way, but he does,” Thor said slowly, resting a strong hand on your shoulder. “And I am telling you this separately from the others because I know you are most likely going to have the strongest feelings among everyone. You are a warrior with great potential, Ove, and you don't fear battle. I would like to fight with you in future battles, but if you commit treason I will be unable to.”

“I don't want to fight in future battles,” you snapped, ripping your shoulder from his grip. “I am fighting to see Fritjof dead, not captured. I came into this battle swearing to cut down anyone in my way, and I will leave the battle with that same swear. No threat against you, my prince, as I think you to be smart enough to not be one to attempt to stop me.” You paused, shifting your jaw and glancing to the side. “Thank you for your concern, but that advice is not something I will heed.”

“Think about it,” was all Thor said in response as you turned away from him. 

At the moment you could not imagine yourself walking back to the campsite, not if you had to do so standing next to Thor and attempting to make idle chat with him. With your arms crossed in front of you, you walked further into the field, afraid that if you looked back he would still be there. The field went on for surely miles, and that gave you plenty of time to walk and calm yourself down. You wanted to scream, and the very moment Thor left the vicinity, you would. You would _not_ have this opportunity ripped from you again. You were already committing treason, what was the big deal if you just added onto that crime? But the very fact that now there was a higher chance of someone getting in your way was frightening. You didn't want to hurt your comrades, save for maybe Fiske, and you knew that Bjarke or Asger would be the first to try and stop you from killing Fritjof. You didn't doubt that in your blind rage you would hurt them, maybe even do something worse. 

When the grass began to brush against your knees, your body made the decision that it was time to stop walking further. You closed your eyes, and a loud scream pushed through your body, dragging you down to the ground. “How could he? I was getting so _close_ to what I need and now it's _gone again_!” Your voice was shrill, painful even, as you clenched at your chest and shouted again. 

You didn't even care if Thor was still in the field, or if other soldiers could hear your frustrated screaming as well. Keeping the anxiety and the anger inside could only ever last for so long before something broke you down again. Your knees hit the ground in front of you, and you let your body limply fall back. Grass tickled your skin and moved with every gasp of breath you took, hiding you completely from everything around you. You stared up at the sky, squinting to look at the clouds as your vision was both blocked by the sun and tears. 

The thing you hated most about you was how you had so easily become vulnerable to your own emotions. You could not remember crying before the war began. Perhaps a few times when you were younger, but once you were on your own tears rarely came, even when you wanted them to. But now, they were complementary to any feeling of anxiety you felt, no matter how small. You could imagine why most of the army looked at you as though you were unfit for war. None of them doubted your fighting skills, but they did doubt your emotional stability. Even those you got along with thought of you as a danger to yourself, and as too headstrong and impulsive for the good of everyone else. 

“Brother, why is it that I am so weak? You were stronger than me even when you were so young.” 

With a heavy sigh, you laid your arm over your eyes and tried to force yourself asleep. You would go back to camp soon enough to return to your place between Asger and Bjarke to sleep, no longer having the excuse to sleep in Loki’s tent. But for now, you wanted to rest. 

It wasn't long before your mind threw you into dreams of failure and death. It nagged you about treason, about Fritjof escaping and about you missing the opportunity to kill him. It mocked you for caring about your friends. It violently killed Asger and Bjarke and Loki in front of you, teasing you for being unable to do anything about it because of the Allfather’s new rules. Odin held your body still as you watched your comrades be killed by Fritjof, unable to do anything while trapped in the man’s grip.

A wail ripped through you as images of a decapitated Loki passed through your mind, and your body jolted you into a sitting position. You gasped for breath, unbuttoning your shirt and pulling at the bandages so that your chest had more room to pound. You wiped sweat from your forehead with your sleeves, and inhaled sharply through your clenched jaw. You wiped your eyes next, rubbing them until they were raw and tearing again only because of the pressure you were inflicting. As you blinked away your foggy vision, your eyes focused on yellow cowslips that were not there when you first went to rest.

When you turned your head to look around, a quiet gasp escaped you as you saw that the field around you was covered in the beautiful flowers, and even as the sun was setting the petals were still vibrant. You wondered if you were still dreaming, and you stood to see how far the cowslips reached. It seemed now that the whole field was covered with them, and they swayed with the breeze and left you mesmerized. 

“I should have come earlier, but I thought you may have wanted to be left alone.”

You were not startled by Loki’s appearance this time around. “I should have known that cowslips do not just grow and bloom within an hour,” you said quietly, sitting back down in the field. 

Loki was looking down at you with soft eyes, his lips pulled into a frown as he regretted not coming to talk to you sooner. Perhaps, even if you were angry, he could have been around to calm you down and prevent you from having a nightmare. “Cowslips sometimes mean mischief, amongst other things,” he told you, gracefully sitting down next to you. “Thor told me that you did not take the news well.”

“How could I?” You asked, picking a cowslip and twirling it between your fingers. “I am going to commit two acts of treason, Loki, and I do not think that you will be able to convince the Allfather that I should not be executed.”

“I suppose no one will be able to convince you not to kill Fritjof,” he said, watching as you spun the flower in your hands to occupy yourself. “I only ask you to truly think about it. Would your brother wish for you to put your own life in so much danger for the sake of him?”

Your response was immediate. “It does not matter what he would wish. He put his life in danger for the sake of me, and I will do the same for him. An eye for an eye.”

“He put his life in danger to protect you. You have no need to protect him.”

“You have _no one_ that you care enough for to risk your life, Loki. Do not speak to me as if you understand the feeling when you do not,” you snapped.

Loki glanced away from you, and when he did, his illusion fell. All around you, cowslips began to vanish, until you were only left with the one you had plucked from the ground. You were reminded then of the effort he went through just to make you comfortable after a nightmare. 

“I am sorry,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes again. “I'm doing it again. I'm doing what my parents hated me for, and what Bjarke and Asger told me was _disappointing_. I know I should stop thinking that I am the only one with a problem or a cause, and yet I slip up so often like a complete idiot.” Loki didn't respond immediately, and you twisted your shirt, _his_ shirt, anxiously. “Please don't wish me to go away. I'm sorry.”

When he turned back towards you, you were afraid to look at him. When you snuck a quick glance, you saw that his expression was pained. “I am not wishing you away, Ove,” he said softly. “If you were to leave I would be burdened with loss, because I do care for you. As much as you wished you could have protected your brother, I wish to protect you.”

His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, delicately wiping away your tears. You closed your eyes, too ashamed to look at him. Within a moment, you felt something you were unfamiliar with. Loki’s arms wrapped around your back, and he pulled you into an embrace against his chest. You froze, unsure of when you were last the receiver of a hug such as this one. But soon, as Loki reminded you once more that he was not upset with you, you melted into his arms and rested your forehead on his shoulder. You don't know how long the two of you stayed in an embrace. You only knew that you did not want it to end, and that you could have fallen asleep in complete bliss if there had been enough time to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooooh. They hugged. And Loki said he cares about Ove. I wonder what that could lead to?
> 
> Here is the current tally as to who you think will confess first:
> 
> Loki: 6  
> Ove: 3  
> Fritjof: 1
> 
> And for the record, your votes don't impact the story. I've had this planned for quite a while, but I DO think it's interesting to hear what you all think.
> 
> Thank you for 180+ kudos! That's amazing! And thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	25. XXV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading this chapter at 2:30 AM only because I just got back from Eastern State Penitentiary's Halloween thing and I'm still hyped on adrenaline from being scared.

You did not return to the campsite until an hour after Loki. You needed a moment to yourself so that you could rest after soaking Loki’s shirt in your tears. Even after he told you it wasn't a problem and he changed his shirt to a clean one in a matter of moments, you were still too embarrassed to walk back to the others with him. He suggested you clean yourself up if you wanted to, and so you did. You took a new shirt that he brought for you and traveled down to the pond to clean yourself.

Loki promised he wouldn't let anyone down near the water to see you, and he held true to that. You took the time to fully wash up, and your body and your hair was grateful for the cleanse. Surely, the other men must think of you as a slob. While they could clean up so often, you had to wait for an opportune moment in which you could hide from their view. As you pulled your wet hair out of your face and rewrapped your chest, you realized how hiding your identity was becoming increasingly difficult. You could not flirt with women properly, nor could you even really chat around the campfire about them. Emotionally, you were tiring. Physically, it was even worse. Your throat burned at the end of each day from talking, your body begged for a break to rest properly, and your chest was riddled with bruising from how tightly you bound it. It hurt to touch, and occasionally it would become hard to breathe. You had to keep the bandages on, but you only wished you could take them off. 

Even whilst in a clean shirt with clean hair and skin, you were not satisfied. And as you sat on Halvor’s back, another discomfort came to your attention again. Your legs were incredibly _sore_. Halvor was easily one of the biggest horses, and you knew he was only picked for you as a jest at your size. You learned not to think of that as a problem, but when long days of riding came about the pain was ever present. 

“I truly cannot stand sitting on this horse for much longer,” you complained, swinging your legs to one side to give them a rest.

“It's been nearly eight hours since our last rest, so I do not blame you,” Thor said, glancing behind him at you. 

He had not talked to you since your outburst in the field, and was hesitant on doing so even now. He struck a chord with you, and assumed you probably didn't want to talk with him. He was right, for the most part. You didn't wish to talk to him about how you would commit treason, nor about your breakdown in the field that you knew he heard. However, there were still strategies that you wanted to discuss.

“Why have we not taken a break? Exhausting our horses will only do us harm.” 

“Because we need to ride forward. Fritjof has made himself a temporary home in the small village of Ormarsa. The people there are in danger, and I want to reach the village before maximum damage can be done.”

“He's probably already killed most of the capable adults,” you stated, and Thor gave a silent nod at your point blank tone. “What is the plan when we reach Ormarsa then? How do you intend on capturing Fritjof without killing him?”

“It is quite easy to not kill someone if you are not set on doing so,” Thor responded, and his response from you was a chin raised in contempt. “Before we reach the village I intend on sending a soldier in as a spy to locate his exact location. From then on, we will plan accordingly.”

“Who are you sending?” You asked, immediately perking up in your seat at the opportunity.

“Not you,” Loki said, always picking the _perfect_ moment to interject in a conversation.

“But it was _my_ idea to use someone as a spy the last time we discussed plans. I think it's only fair, and I am plenty capable—”

“And you will slice Fritjof’s throat by yourself if we let you,” Loki added. 

“Plus we need you with the rest of us,” Thor mentioned, quick to interject so that Loki could not get a rise out of you. “Whoever is the spy will be in a very dangerous position. It would be too much of a risk to have you be the one sent in. If we lose you as a warrior we lose a large advantage.”

“I'm flattered, really,” you said sarcastically, swinging your leg back over Halvor’s back to sit properly. “Who are you sending then?”

Thor laughed, earning a deeper set frown from you. “You talk as though you are an equal to me in every way. Must be because you are around my brother so often.”

“Ove is certainly an equal to you on the battlefield, perhaps even superior to you in intelligence,” the dark prince chimed in, earning a small grin from you. 

“We are undecided about who we are sending in, but we’re considering seeing who volunteers. Besides you.” You rolled your eyes at Thor’s specification.

“Just make sure the other choice won't kill Fritjof then,” you muttered, and for the rest of the ride you mainly stayed silent, only occasionally making a bitter remark to Loki when he teased you for being too stubborn.

“You can't have all of the glory, even if you are a God of Pride,” he told you, his mocking name for you being accompanied by a smirk. 

“I prefer being called a sleeping dragon, rather than a god of pride. Makes me seem less pretentious.”

“Is that your way of calling _me_ pretentious?”

“I wouldn't have said it otherwise.” You turned to flash him your own smirk, but it was short lived as Thor ordered the army to halt. 

“Soldiers! Thirty miles ahead of us is the village in which Fritjof has made his temporary home. Ormarsa is no small village. It is larger than Hjarta was, but its roads are just as narrow. As an army we cannot go through the village gates without alerting the barbarians of our presence, but we can send a soldier in to pose as a spy and report back where Fritjof himself is staying. That soldiers duty will be to locate Fritjof. Nothing more. You will not interact with anyone there, and you will not seek to inflict harm on any barbarian unless you absolutely must.” 

You took that as a personal jab.

“Whoever goes will locate Fritjof and return back to us within three days. If you do not return, we will resort to another plan. Hopefully, you do return.” Thor paused, glancing over his army to find willing volunteers. “I will not lie to you, comrades. Whoever goes might not return, but anyone who wishes to make this effort will have a designated spot in Valhalla.”

Thor asked for who wanted to go. No one answered. As if your own impatience sunk through you and into Halvor, he stomped his feet on the ground and snorted loudly. Thor asked again, and Loki looked over the army himself, only on his face you could spot a restrained sneer. He was disappointed in the cowardice being shown, and you were too.

“I’ll go, Thor. If no one else will volunteer than I will go,” you announced. “If I am the only one who is not a _coward_ , I will do the job better than anyone else here—”

“I will go.”

You whipped your head around to see who it was that spoke, your gaze burning with angry flames. 

“I will go,” the soldier repeated, and you lowered your gaze for a mere moment to think things through. 

“You have always been a brave warrior, Bjarke, and there is no doubt in my mind that you are cunning enough to pull this off for the sake of Asgard,” Thor said, a large smile on his face. 

“I'll try my best, Prince Thor.”

You saw Bjarke flinch when you finally returned your gaze to him, as if your reaction was going to make him regret his decision. He knew he had cut you off, he knew you wanted to go, but he also knew that you would not be allowed to do so. He did not know that now you were objecting to him going purely because it was him, and there was potential for him to never return. 

“You will return,” you spoke finally, head held steady as you gave your order to your comrade. “And you will return in one piece, because if you do not, I will seek you out myself and make you regret not listening to this order.”

“Presumably by cutting me into more than one piece?” Bjarke suggested, grinning past his anxiety. “Of course I will return, Ove. I couldn't leave Asger all on his own to control your rash decisions. Not to mention you still owe me for that necklace, remember?”

You turned your cheek, straining your eyesight to look into the far distance until Thor allowed for everyone to begin setting up camp for the night. Bjarke would leave after supper, he said. That way he would be able to travel without being seen. You noted the issue with that immediately. Bjarke would not be seen, but he would also not be able to see the enemies himself. You couldn't help but be quiet throughout dinner. Bjarke was treating himself to an extra portion, and Asger did the same because he was going to be ‘eating for Bjarke for a few nights’. You opted for one portion, having to force each bite down your throat as you sat between the two men. 

The food tasted bitter. Worse than it usually was, and you knew it was only because of the impending absence of the kind man beside you. If you could, you wouldn't eat. Your stomach rumbled with protest with each bite, but only from anxiety. You had to eat, you had to be nourished for upcoming battles. You had to be strong in case you had to travel into Ormarsa and rip apart barbarian after barbarian until you could find Bjarke, alive and safe. 

You recognized that this was all what you had wanted to avoid. These ties between these men were now restraining you, like shackles around your wrists and rope around your neck. These bonds were lacerating you, cutting into emotions you had always tried so hard to restrict. Naively, you had thought you could unlock the shackles and cut the rope, but the wicked butterflies in your stomach served as a sickening reminder that you could not.

“Eat slowly,” you murmured, and Bjarke stopped laughing to look over at you with pursed lips and a quirked brow.

“What did you say, Ove? I didn't hear.”

You didn't answer, but by then Bjarke’s brain had processed the words you had said, and his spoon paused in his hand and clattered against the side of his bowl. 

“I can do that,” he told you, a soft smile on his lips. “But I can't do so forever.”

“I know,” you said sharply, inhaling quickly through your nose as you shoved another mouthful of food into you. “Why can't Fiske go?” Your complaining was muffled by chewed up food.

“Would you really trust that asshole to locate Fritjof and report back?” 

“No,” you said, taking another bite, “but Fiske would be the preferable option compared to you.”

“I am going to return, Ove. I already told you that. I can't babysit you if I'm in Valhalla.” He laughed at the sour expression on your face, and you couldn't help but laugh a little too. Bjarke could do that so easily. His laugh was so contagious that it immediately filled your chest with your own booming laughter.

“Pardon me for interrupting,” a voice cut in, and you couldn't help but frown when you saw that it was Thor. “You should go now, Bjarke, so that you have enough darkness to cloak you the whole way to Ormarsa.”

Bjarke swallowed. Nodded. Set his bowl down next to Asger and told him to finish it for him. Stood. Grabbed his bag. And paused. By now you had stopped eating, and you had set aside your own bowl as you watched Bjarke prepare to leave. He reached into his bag, and out of it he pulled the bracelet he had bought for his sister, and he held it out for you to take. 

“Keep this safe for me, will you Ove?”

You shook your head. “I won't need to keep it safe if you are going to return like you said you will,” you told him, and you saw how he tried to quickly hide his frown with a smile.

“And what if I lose it on this little trip? My sister will give me hell for days. I can't risk that. Keep it safe until I return,” Bjarke said, pushing the bronze bracelet into your hand. 

Your fingers wrapped around it reluctantly, and you tried to conjure up a menacing glare. “Be safe,” you ordered, and before you could do much of anything else, the man had his arms tightly wrapped around you. And as you protested in his grip, two more strong arms gripped you tighter. “You deserve the names Bark and Ass!” You shouted, and finally the two let you go. 

“See you in a few days,” Bjarke hummed, waving to both you and Asger as he turned to get on his horse.

“What an idiot,” Asger huffed, and you began to nod your head in agreement. “I don't see how I'm supposed to babysit you all by myself for a few days.”

You hit Asger in the shoulder, and you swore you could hear Bjarke laugh and mutter a quiet prayer as he rode off towards Ormarsa by himself, leaving you with one last comrade directly by your side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bjarke moves on to a mission by himself, but will he be okay?
> 
> Current tally for who will confess first:
> 
> Ove: 3  
> Loki: 10  
> Fritjof: 2
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! It means the world to me and encourages me to keep writing this story.


	26. XXVI

The rest of the night was strange. You had grown so used to sleeping shoved between Bjarke and Asger that now the empty gap at your left felt misplaced. There was space between you and Asger, as neither of them were rolling onto their backs to invade your personal space as they slept. Your arm was splayed where Bjarke would normally be, and you gripped the grass as though you could grip him instead. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and about where he was in the woods right now. He had probably traveled at least ten miles by now, and in the morning he would most likely already be at Ormarsa. 

You prayed that he did not encounter wolves, or any barbarians on his way. You didn't often _pray_ for anything. You didn't believe in it. You didn't believe that anyone above your own self could protect you from what was in store, but this time you needed the extra assurance that Bjarke would return unharmed and alive. If there was a chance that someone would listen to your prayers, then you would regret not taking it. You turned on your side, hitting your head against the fur you used as a pillow as though you could knock yourself out from the light impact. 

“Ove, if you keep hitting your head like that you won't be able to greet Bjarke when he returns,” Asger grumbled, rolling onto his back just so that he could push your face into the fur. 

“Leggo of my face, Ass,” you ordered, gripping onto his wrist and struggling to push his hand away. “I'm just worried that Bjarke’s big mouth is going to get him into trouble somehow.”

“Bjarke is the one with the big mouth, is he? If _he_ has a big mouth than we’re all lucky you didn't go.” 

You rolled your eyes, but weren't able to form an argument against him. “He’ll be fine,” you agreed, though your nerves would protest. “Won't he?”

“He will be,” Asger assured you, and you were almost ashamed the words had ever left your mouth in the first place. You didn't want to doubt Bjarke, and yet all of you had silently screamed in protest when he departed. 

“And if he isn't?”

“Then we’ll beat him up when we see him in Valhalla. Now quit talkin’ like the man can't hold his own in a fight. Boost his ego while he's gone; he’ll never know.” Asger’s words were rough, but there was a softness to his eyes that reminded you that he too was worried about the man you had both grown so fond of. 

“I'll beat him up _before_ he’s in Valhalla,” you scoffed jokingly, pulling your lips up into a grin. If you forced yourself to, perhaps the smiles would distract from the pain. Asger pushed your head back down into the fur, urging you with his actions to finally try to sleep. And succeed at that you did, if only for a while. 

When the moon was highest, your pulse was fastest, and as you woke your voice could not find a scream because your lungs were desperately trying to fill with air. You wiped your forehead of sweat and rubbed your eyes of tears, wishing you could smear the haunting images from your mind as well. You dreamt Bjarke did not return, and when the army invaded the village of Ormarsa it was greeted with his head on a pike, mounted proudly as though it was Fritjof’s greatest prize. A raven’s caw made you flinch in your place, mocking the pathetic state you were in. 

“Not the time, not the time,” you chanted in a whisper, hands wrapped around yourself in a tight embrace. You did not want to wake Asger, and so you stumbled onto your feet, and pulled your fur pillow over to Halvor. The large horse was awake, and he bristled until he recognized that it was only you. When your hand met his muzzle he nudged back at you, and when your knees hit the ground he laid beside you, offering you his stomach to lean against. You leaned back onto him, the rumbling of his breath lulling you to relax. You rested a hand on his front leg, and that was all the horse needed as a thank you.

Only, resting against Halvor could not make you sleep. He could calm you, but he could not take away the fear of returning nightmares. You stayed awake for hours more, staring into the forest as though Bjarke would return immediately. Your gaze was finally torn from the trees when you heard a tent flap open, and you narrowed your eyes to try and see who was awake. Loki was standing outside of his tent, breathing heavily and reminding you of when you first saw him wake in the middle of the night, before you had grown to know him.

Your heart ached to see him in such a state, and you quietly stood from Halvor to offer Loki your companionship. “Loki,” you whispered, but your words caused the prince to spark a dark magic in his hands. Instinctively, you flinched away, spotting red in his eyes and a dangerous posture. “It is only me,” you told him quietly.

When your voice and your form finally broke through to the man, his posture shrunk and his face fell with shame, his eyes returning to their usual green . “I scared you,” he said, and you quickly shook your head and went to speak, but his bitter words silenced you. “You say you are not frightened of me, and that you do not believe me to be a monster, but my blood still shakes you.”

“I did not know—”

“You did not know what? If I would hurt you?” He asked, but he could not bring himself to look at you, and that stung more than his words. “This is what I meant, Ove. I have been destined to be malicious, and to _frighten_ those I care about.”

“You were not destined for that, Loki,” you spoke, and when he tried to silence you again, you took a step closer to him. “You were not born a monster, nor are you one now.” He interjected again, and you grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you in your eyes as you spoke. “Some people believe you are one, and because of them you have been deluded into listening to their rumors. You are hurt, but that does not make you a monster.” You swallowed, and your grip on his chin softened. You did not need to force him to look at you now, as his gaze was nowhere besides on yours. 

“I flinched because I am weak and work off of instinct and impulse, not because I am scared of you. I have trained myself to see everything and everyone as a threat, and that is _my_ fault, not yours.”

“But what if I _do_ hurt you?” His question was laced with uncertainty, his hands still held at his sides with his fingers twitching nervously. 

You wished to tell him that he hurt you only while saying things like this. When you could hear the rare vulnerability in his voice as he worried about who he was morally, you felt a pang in your chest. You wondered if that was how he felt when you spoke of yourself in the same manner.

“Then I have done something to deserve it or you did not do it purposely,” you replied, your certainty doing only a little to put him at ease. “But you will not, so there is no need to worry.” You felt his hand carefully push hair out of your face, and your eyes closed at his gentle touch. “You have not hurt me, and until you believe that you are not who others say you are, I will keep reminding you.”

Your hand moved to his cheek for just a moment before you finally pulled away, face flaring as you realized how close the two of you had been to each other. Loki’s eyes flit away, and his fingers were back to nervously twitching at his side. To act as though he was composed, he held his hands behind him, trying to resume the confident posture he had when around anyone else but you. You noticed the shift in his stance, but only because you too changed like that when you were around him. 

“I occasionally find myself thinking about the words you spoke to me when I first confronted you alone,” Loki started. “About how I am a coward and you are not. I have never heard anyone speak words that hold more truth.”

“I am a coward about many things,” you said with a small, bitter laugh. “I cannot reveal my name to you out of fear, I cannot sleep without fear, and I certainly cannot talk about trust or companionship without fear.” You paused, thinking carefully about all of your statements. “Perhaps we are both just cowards about showing any emotion other than anger.”

“We could work on that,” Loki said with an airy laugh. “I'm certain it would be quite easy if you grabbed me by my chin again.”

You choked on your own spit, sending the prince a dirty glare. “I only did that so that you’d shut up and listen,” you sneered.

“Ah yes, and that is why you so _gently_ caressed my cheek.”

“You touched _my_ face too!” 

“And if you asked nicely I would do it again,” he crooned, and he laughed again as you childishly crossed your arms in front of you. “I will wait for you to ask for that treatment in the future, then.” When you didn't respond, he went to rest his hand on your shoulder, but before he reached you he hesitated and pulled his hand back to his side. 

Despite his calm demeanor and change in posture, he was very much still arguing with himself silently. You didn't take any offense to him retracting his hand. You would have liked it to reach its destination but you knew he was too worried to allow it. A silence passed over the two of you, as you attempted to pretend not to notice the failed contact, and he pretended as though he never tried in the first place. Stolen glances were exchanged. You looked at him when he looked away, he did the same to you. It was a childish display of timid affection, but neither of you seemed to mind it.

“It's almost morning already.” You spoke up when your eyes finally met with his, just wishing for the silence to end at last. “You should try sleeping again. Perhaps your nightmares won't bother you a second time tonight.”

“And would you stay awake?” 

“I seem to only get a nice rest when you are around,” you responded with a thin smile. “And I do not wish to become dependent on that.”

Loki frowned a bit at that. That was not the answer he wished to hear from you. 

“But tonight is fine,” you added, giving in easily to the troubled look that crossed his face. “Bjarke being gone is too irksome anyway. I wouldn't be able to fall asleep near Halvor, despite his attempts at calming me down.”

“I do not blame you for not being able to sleep next to the beast.” 

You gently punched his arm, muttering that Halvor was only a beast occasionally, not all the time. When he laughed at your clarification, a small, sad smile briefly crossed your face. “What we are doing is dangerous for me, you know,” you said, and you almost wished you didn't ever mention it as you saw Loki’s expression switch back to a troubled one. “Thor already thanked me for being a good friend to you, and I had to joke as though I was going to be your wingman. And Bjarke and Asger raise a brow each time I speak to you. Even Fiske and the others have had questions on their tongues. It could give me away if we keep talking privately or sleeping near each other.”

“I suppose you are right.” Loki’s resignation to the idea of the two of you being only able to talk to each other in the company of others only lasted for a short while, however. “But,” he began, a glint in his eyes as he smirked, “you forget once more that I am a trickster god. If you wish to remain in my company I can cast an illusion to make it so that no one sees you, or no one sees me.”

“Will it at all have an effect on me? I’m not a fan of teleportation. I have gotten used to you only speaking to me through our minds, but even that is something I have to get used to more.” He responded to you with silence, and barely a movement from him. You stared quizzically, eyebrows raised as you waited for an answer from him. “Well?” You pressed, leaning closer towards him.

“I've already done it. Anyone else can only see me, not you.” At his answer, you puckered your lips and crinkled your nose. “Masking ourselves from others is less physical than teleporting or talking to you telepathically. It's also much simpler in terms of how much effort it takes me.”

Now you wanted to know more. The more Loki spoke of his magic, the more you were curious about what else he was capable of. Even with Pirko, you wished you could have asked her more about how magic worked. “How much would you say you know how to do in reference to your magic? I know you did not know the spells that you got from Pirko originally, but how much is there to learn?”

“That entails a long answer,” he said, and he motioned for you to follow him back into his tent. You glanced over to Halvor, and upon finding that the horse was content where he was, you followed Loki into the tent, sitting down beside him as you waited for his answer. “While magic itself is something nearly limitless, there are certain skills that are impossible for certain magic users. So while I am capable of many tricks, I still cannot bend people to my every will. Enchantress is another magic user, and yet she is stronger at manipulating people than I am. For me to manipulate anyone beyond simple things, I would need a weapon to do so. There are limits to everyone’s magic, but it is different for every person. Pirko is remarkable at healing others, and I am not. I can heal myself, but healing you was difficult and straining.”

You rested your chin on your knees, listening to his explanation as though you were a child listening to a bedtime story. “But how are you able to even use magic in the first place? Is it because you are of Jotun blood? Or is it something else?”

“Has no one ever told you stories of magic users when you were younger?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “You forget that my childhood was not very long. My mother preferred stories of stones and metals, and my father was not much of a storyteller unless it involved war.”

“Well I suppose I could always tell you stories when you wish to hear them. Mother always told many when Thor and I were younger.” He phrased it as though it was a hassle to tell you the stories, but you could tell from his eyes that he wished to tell you all he could. “Magic runs in the blood. Think of it as a set of genes that some possess and others do not. Those genes allow us to use magic, but if they are mutated in any slight way, it can inhibit us from being able to learn certain skills. Me being of Jotun blood has nothing to do with it. Being Jotun has contributed to my stamina and strength, but not to my magic.”

There were so many things you wished to ask about those genes, and yet you weren’t sure how to phrase them, or if you would be able to understand his answers. But as you tried to think of questions to ask, you heard footsteps in the grass and the voices of soldiers. It was not nearly late enough in the morning for people to be awaking, and so you looked at Loki for an answer. He responded by sitting up, and whispering to you that no one could see you with him right now. When he opened the tent up, you narrowed your eyes at the sight of Fiske, holding a letter in his hands.

“I am sorry to bother you, Prince Loki,” he said, and when he looked into the tent you swore he was looking straight at you, despite Loki’s magic. “Fritjof’s crow arrived just a few moments ago, with this letter. Thor asked me to wake you so that you could go discuss the contents of the letter with him.”

“Give me a moment, I will meet my brother shortly,” Loki said, dismissing Fiske. You stayed silent, but when Loki looked over to you he could see the worry plastered onto your face. “Go to Asger,” he told you, sliding his jacket on over his shoulders. “You cannot come while I talk to Thor. If you do something unpredictable the illusion might fall.”

“You’re just assuming that this has to do with Bjarke,” you said quickly, standing up to follow him out of the tent. “But even if it does I have every right to know.”

“I am dropping the illusion now then,” Loki said, and he did so as soon as he was certain that no one was watching. You followed him to Thor’s tent, and along the way Asger too stood up to follow. “You two cannot enter the tent for this conversation,” Loki said sharply, turning to face both of you. “This is not a public conversation.”

“And we are not the public,” you snapped. When Thor caught sight of you, he looked to the side. 

“Let them in, brother. They have the right to know what is written on this letter,” Thor spoke, and Loki cast a long, pleading look to you before stepping to the side and letting you enter. “Fiske, hand me the letter and leave.”

When Thor began to open the letter, you already were beginning to feel numb. And when he began to read, you weren't sure of how much you were fully comprehending. You could imagine Fritjof walking around proudly as he spoke the words that were to be written.

_Prince Thor,  
I have always admired soldiers who are brave and committed to their cause, however your soldiers seem unable to understand when their duty is suicidal. The man you sent gave away your location, if only after a few hours of sprinkling lead into his right eye. Perhaps if you come fast enough he will be alive still, or perhaps he will be dead, depending on if I tire of his screaming._

_Best wishes, as always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are unfamiliar with odd torture methods: A lead sprinkler is a torture device used to pour molten lead, and boiling oils onto the victim.  
> It's not fun.
> 
> ANYWAY, thank you so much for over 200 kudos!! It means so much to me.
> 
> Current tally as to who you think will confess first:  
> Loki: 10  
> Ove: 3  
> Fritjof: 2
> 
> Thank you for comments, kudos, and reading!


	27. XXVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to note quickly that while this fic has always been violent, take this as a warning that that only increases.

When Thor finished speaking, you could feel his eyes on you. And Loki’s eyes on you. And even Asger’s, as he tried to hold himself together as though the news wasn't as awful as it truly was. They expected anger from you. Anger in the form of screaming and kicking in the same way you did when you learned you could not kill Fritjof. 

But that didn't happen.

You stood numbly, staring at the ground in front of you. Your legs felt weak beneath you, and Asger’s strong arms held you under your armpits to prevent you from falling. Pale and slender hands cupped your face, but when you looked into those green eyes your expression didn't shift in the slightest.

“Ove, there is still a chance for Bjarke to be alive,” Thor spoke, and Loki carefully let go of your face when he saw that you were breathing just fine. 

Your heart was beating faster than normal, but on the outside you were a blank slate, with only short breaths to show your emotions. Asger did not let go of your body, knowing that if he did, you would let yourself drop to the ground.

“We should just let him rest,” Asger suggested, and the two brothers gave nods in agreement. “He's just shocked.”

Shocked did not begin to describe how you felt. You were so lost in your thoughts that you did not feel Asger lift you off of your feet, or move you to the makeshift bed in Thor’s tent so that you could rest. You barely even noticed the shift in your surroundings when Loki came to sit beside you. Asger, too, sat, knowing that he needed to calm himself down as well. Thor made a comment to Loki about how plans would need to be made, but the god of thunder pressed no further than that. 

“Bjarke would not let himself be killed by Fritjof, Ove. You know that.” Asger tried again to get a response from you, but you couldn't form the words you wanted to. 

Bjarke made it to Ormarsa in perfect time. He made it before the sun even had a chance to light the sky a little bit. But now that you were thinking on it, Bjarke may not have made it at all to Ormarsa. The barbarians may have found him long before he even made it. They could have even known where everyone was all along, and just tortured Bjarke for the hell of it. You didn't doubt that Fritjof would do such a thing. He surely found great, sickening joy from shaking melted lead into Bjarke’s eye until he gave up information. If you closed your eyes for too long, you could hear the pain they put Bjarke through, and see the agony on his face. 

You could see Fritjof proudly holding the lead shaker, a grin on his face as he expertly used the torture device. And now, Bjarke was perhaps not dead. Blinded in one eye, but maybe still alive. You didn't know if you _wanted_ him alive, because surely him being alive would give Fritjof more chances to tease and torture and strip your comrade of his humanity. 

Bjarke had his sister to go home to. And a woman to go back to so that he could take her hand and build a family with her. He had you and Asger to return to, and he had other comrades that needed to listen to his brotherly advice. He needed to return, so that you could get the chance to tell him that you love him as though he was your brother and that you were thankful for his words even when they stung. You needed to apologize for being an occasional ass, and for doubting that he could ever be a true friend to you. 

But now—now you may never be able to. 

And the words you would have to leave unspoken would haunt you forever if that was the case. 

You felt someone tap your chin, but didn't bother to look at who it was until you felt a hand gently pull your lip away from your teeth. “M’fine,” you breathed, and both Asger and Loki raised their eyebrows at your long awaited words. 

Loki finished healing your bottom lip, a heavy sigh leaving his own. “It's been an hour since Thor read that letter, Ove. You should sleep for the little while more that you can,” he said, and Asger nodded in agreement.

“We will wake you up when our course of action is decided,” Asger told you, but you just shifted to your side so that you did not have to look at them. “Ove, I am equally as upset and worried about Bjarke as you are, but being like this will not benefit him.”

You didn't respond, just stared at the cloth wall of the tent and tried to will the two men away. 

“Are you worried about your nightmares?” Asger tried, and he glanced to Loki knowingly. 

Loki got the hint, and frowned at the idea of your previous words being entirely accurate. Asger and Bjarke knew better than anyone else that there was a stronger bond between you and the pale prince, and now that was only being confirmed. But now was not the time to act as though the two of you were not close. 

“You know I can take away the nightmares if you wish to catch some rest.”

You didn't wish that. You couldn't imagine yourself sleeping as the others planned on how to invade Ormarsa. So you slowly sat up, using Loki’s shoulder to balance yourself as you lifted yourself fully to your feet. Thor was outside of the tent, speaking to the other soldiers around the fire of a plan. You would not sleep while others were preparing for battle. The very thought of being so submissive was enough to make you stubborn enough to at least be attentive again. 

You walked past your two comrades, stepping out of the tent and making your way straight towards the fire and to Thor. You stood beside him with your arms crossed, and while you were listening carefully to what he was planning, your eyes were locked on the blazing flames in front of you. 

“Our goal was previously to just capture Fritjof and free the village of Ormarsa, however now we have a comrade that needs to be saved, if there is still a chance. Bjarke is a comrade and a friend, and if we can prevent his life from being taken, we will. We know now that sneaking into Ormarsa will not work. Fritjof expects us. We will split into two groups. One will ride to the west and the other will ride to the east of the village, and both groups will then regather and attack from the south. This will make our travels longer, but it will hopefully take the barbarians by surprise. Every person here will be assigned to one of the two groups, and from there, every person will have a position. The groups will be led by me and my brother.”

As Loki handed out roles for everyone, you barely paid any attention. You did not need to anything besides your own group and whether or not you were in the vanguard.

“Ove,” Thor called, and you glanced up from the flames to give him the steadiest gaze you could conjure up. “You will be with my brother’s group, in the far back with him and Asger.”

Your nostrils flared the moment the word “vanguard” never left his mouth, but you didn't openly protest. You just nodded in response, giving him a small, sarcastic salute. You recognized the valid reasoning behind placing you, Loki, and Asger in the back. You were all strong fighters, and the vanguard usually took the brunt of the hits. You were far less likely to be injured if you were placed in the back, but even then your adrenaline would make you prone to overwork yourself again. Not to mention that _you_ being in the front was dangerous for the rest of the army. 

You made the mistake of not killing Fritjof when you had the chance. You chose Loki, even though now you figured he would have been perfectly capable of protecting himself without your help, and you left Fritjof to escape. Then it wouldn't have been treason to kill him. Then he wouldn't have ever been able to torture Bjarke. But you were going to commit treason and he was able to torture Bjarke all because you made a shitty decision. And you felt wrong for thinking that way. You were glad Loki wasn’t injured and that you were able to help him. You just wished you would have been able to both help him _and_ kill Fritjof. 

“Gather your belongings and we will leave soon,” Loki announced, turning to talk to you. But when he reached out to you and opened his mouth to speak, you turned away to walk towards Halvor, scooping up your furs along the way. The prince didn't bother to follow you. Instead he briefly glanced to Asger before going to gather up his own belongings. 

You shoved the furs back into Halvor’s pack, and carefully opened your small pouch to make sure all of your most sacred belongings, plus the bracelet for Bjarke’s sister, were carefully placed inside. Halvor bent his neck down to help you up onto his back, and you grabbed his reins, wasting no time to get in formation with the others. 

“Ove, how are you feeling?” Loki asked, riding over on Casimir. “We haven't had the opportunity to heal your last wound, and it would do you well to remember Pirko’s warning about your body’s exhaustion.”

You just shrugged, not feeling like his questions warranted any longer of an answer for you. However, your lack of words was growing to be both irritating and concerning for Loki. Your silence meant that you were trying to avoid the topic of Bjarke’s endangerment, and that you were attempting to disassociate from the world around you. You did the same when your brother passed; when your parents could barely get you to eat and the doctors had no solutions. Loki worried that you behaving like you were was just a sign for worse to come if Bjarke was dead by the time the army reached Ormarsa.

“Promise that you will be careful. I know you won't be but perhaps the promise will make me feel a little more at ease,” Loki pressed, the pressure of his gaze making you wish to hide your face. 

“I'm fine, Loki,” you told him. 

There was no need to promise him anything. You didn't want to talk. You wanted to be left alone. Quite possibly for good if Bjarke was dead. You wanted to build walls around you taller and thicker than you had before, but if only you had the materials left over to do so. 

“I can heal you while we ride,” Loki suggested, speaking only to attempt to get more of a response from you. But you kept your eyes trained forward, refusing to look at his, and your mouth sealed shut. “You are absolutely maddening.”

The comments made under his breath bothered you, but you didn't let it show. You wouldn't until you could pour your emotions into your mace instead of into your tears. And so for the duration of the ride, you stayed silent. Loki gave up on speaking to you, and instead rode by your side and sparked magic in his hands, hoping that by some chance he could also spark your interest. Asger tried to talk, to make small jokes just as he normally does, but you were devoid of any humor and didn't even spare him a glance. 

Even Halvor was growing irritated with your behavior, and he occasionally bucked you around. The strain that your horse’s behavior caused on your arms and legs was still not enough to get you to speak, or do anything more than ride and look ahead. Riding through the woods only reminded you of what Bjarke had to do by himself. Your comrades were beside you and yet you still could not keep your eyes from straying towards the trees and bushes as though an enemy would appear, as they did for Bjarke. Asger was surely thinking the same, as he kept looking towards the ground as if he would be able to see Bjarke’s horse’s footprints, and where they stopped. 

“We underestimated Fritjof,” he whispered, and you spared him a glance to nod in agreement.

 _You_ didn't underestimate the man. The rest of the army did. You always knew that for how twisted and cruel Fritjof was, he was equally as planned out. He wasn't foolish, and he didn’t act impulsively. Everything he did was calculated and planned, and that's what made him so dangerous to Asgard. 

“He's going to know,” you said finally, taking both Loki and Asger by surprise as you spoke more than two words. Fritjof was going to know where the army was going to attack from. There was no surprising him. He’d be expecting an army.

“I wish you had spoken up about something more uplifting,” Loki said beside you, but he too slipped back into silence as the village came into view.

The horses picked up their pace, and in the distance you could see that Thor’s own half of the army had traveled slower than Loki’s. But that was fine. They could clean up the mess that you would leave if they arrived any later. The army only paused when they reached the south side of the entrance. Asgardian archers killed the barbarians that stood atop watch towers, and so far, hardly any other barbarians came to greet the army with weapons. The south side of the village was eerily empty, and not a single person was hiding in the shadows. You led Halvor further to the front of the army, your mace held tight in your dominant hand where it belonged. 

Before your eyes could even make out the scene as you rode in front of the soldiers, Halvor reared up in distress, nearly flinging you off of his back. 

"Halvor," you hissed, smacking him gently on the neck as he came back down, still nervously shifting in his spot and neighing loudly. When the beast calmed down, you were finally able to see what made him so panicked.

A horse.

A dead horse.

Bjarke's horse. 

Lying right in the middle of the road was the caramel colored mare that Bjarke would affectionately call Bodil, with arrows sticking out of her side that made your stomach curl into knots. 

"Ove!"

It was Asger calling, though shortly after you heard Loki pick up his voice too, but at that point you were hardly paying attention to them. Your heart sped as you squeezed Halvor's torso with your legs and he took off into a gallop. Your free hand reached to the shield on your back, and you pulled it in front of you. There was no use in listening to orders anymore. You needed to find Bjarke, and you would let heads fly until you found him, even if it was the head of Fritjof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, we are not nearing the end of this fic. There is still a LOT to go through.
> 
> Also: someone mentioned in the comments that they wanted to make fanart! Please know that this is SUPER WELCOME, and I'm sure everyone would love to see it if you choose to make any. And if you do, please link me to it!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for commenting, reading, and leaving kudos! Your support means so much to me.


	28. XXVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw Ragnarok over the weekend and it gave me such a burst of inspiration to write. I'm now a few chapters ahead again!

Fritjof was in the village hall. That's where the most guards were posted, waiting for people to attack. At this point, you were ahead of the rest of the army. They were beginning to infiltrate the village now, but only because your action forced them to follow after you. Otherwise, they most likely would have waited for Thor’s half of the army. You could imagine the anger that was most likely radiating from some of the soldiers in response to your rash behavior. Certainly, Loki and Asger were also just as irritated. They both were also probably worried about what you were intending on doing. They had most likely seen the bloodlust in your eyes when you turned your face away from Bodil, and decided then that you would not be listening to orders. 

Maybe it was your anger, or perhaps you really were unmatched, because the men on the outside of the hall were easily killed. It was an effortless battle for you, and as they fell off their horses into the road, you almost took joy from their own steeds trampling them as they tried to escape battle themselves. Bodil, if she were alive, would surely have wished to join in the trampling of unworthy men. 

By the time you had taken care of the men outside of the hall, the rest of the army was beginning to catch up. But there was no time to wait for them, and so you slid off of Halvor’s back and stormed up to the hall doors, slamming your mace into the wood. You swung your mace again, and when the doors were broken down enough, you kicked them open easily. Upon entering the building, you felt that same fear creep up again. The same fear that you felt when you saw Fritjof for the first time since you were only a little girl. 

It was impossible to pinpoint exactly why just the mere sight of him terrified you, even whilst he was only sitting on a throne. Your anger surely should be enough to knock that pesky fear away, and yet, it wasn’t. No matter how angry you were, he was still the man that killed your brother, and he was still the man that could have easily killed you as well. 

“You are the warrior that screamed at me across the battlefield like an angry child, are you not?”

Only when Fritjof spoke did you realize that you had froze in your spot. Barbarians watched you, raised their bows at you and waited for you to make the wrong move, but they did not shoot. You shifted your shield to better protect you, but your eyes didn't leave Fritjof’s grin for more than a few seconds. 

“And then nearly died, if I recall,” he added, and he covered his mouth with his hand as he laughed at you. “Why, out of everyone, are _you_ the one most angry at me? It's quite like watching a pup try and bark.”

“Shut up,” you said, and when he raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer to hear you better, you shouted the words this time. “Shut up! Do not sit like a coward and associate _me_ with something weak.”

He didn't respond for a while. He sat back in his seat, leaning his head against his hand as he watched you for a while more. Eventually, he raised a hand, gesturing for a soldier to come over and speak with him. “Block the door, if you will. I would very much love to speak to this poor bastard alone.”

As guards moved behind you to block the entrance to the hall, you briefly turned your attention to the outside. You spot Halvor near Asger and Loki, and you caught Loki’s gaze for a mere moment before you turned your head back around to face Fritjof. You realized now how easy it would be for you to die in here. The army would briefly struggle to get in, giving anyone enough time to take you down. And yet, it also gave you time to kill Fritjof. An opportunity you relished in. 

“So what did I do?” Fritjof asked you, standing now. “Did I kill a friend?” Your face twitches, eyes dancing around the room as though you would be able to find Bjarke. “Your parents?” No reaction. “A sibling?”

Your gut twisted so viscerally you thought an arrow had been shot through you again. 

“A sister you were too weak to protect?” He paused, tapping his finger on his chin. “A brother, perhaps,” he said cooly, and he watched with delight as your face turned red and your shoulders stiffened. “Were you there? Did you have to see it? Remind me, _please_ , what did I do to him? Take an arm? A leg? Separate his torso from his legs?” When you didn't respond, he only continued, fueled by your building rage. “I used to love the feeling of killing a young boy. He could have grown up into a warrior, like you. But then I would have had to strike him down as a man and that would only dull my blade more because there would be more flesh to cut through. With a young boy it's so _easy_.”

“Where is Bjarke?” You asked, trying to block out his words. “The man you took and tortured, where is he?”

“Perhaps if you tell me how I killed your brother I will tell you where that man is. He's alive, barely. But I would much rather relive some old memories. So tell me, and I will bring the mutt out.”

You stared at the ground ahead of you, until you could muster up the courage to look directly into Fritjof’s dark eyes. “You cut his head off, but let me live,” you said finally, and the only thing preventing you from crying was the sheer look of joy on the monster’s face. 

“I cut his head off? He must have been the perfect height.”

Maintaining eye contact with him was painful. When he talked about killing, about killing your brother, his eyes lit up, as though that was a happy memory in his mind. His eyes bothered you. You wanted them to look emotionless, dead. Instead they looked wildly alive, perhaps even more so than your own gaze looked. His smile never left his face, and while he looked around the room and nudged his fellow barbarians as though they were telling tales at a pub, your eyes wandered to his arms, to give yourself a break from his gaze. 

They were riddled with markings, custom tattoos that he proudly wore, exposing them even when the weather was cold and harsh. Occasionally, amongst the patterns a name was scribbled, and you narrowed your eyes to try and read them. Fritjof noticed your gaze, and he took a step closer to you, as though to allow you to read them better. 

“Looking for your brother’s name?” He asked, and you blinked in confusion.

“What?” You asked, breathing in deeply to keep yourself from striking out at him. 

“The names are little souvenirs. If killing someone is especially gratifying, and I learned their name, I'll have it drawn on to me.” Every time he paused in his speech, he did so only to gauge your reaction. “Brynhild, a man’s wife that I killed only recently. Astrid, a woman trying to save her mother in the village of Sandvik. Harold, a pathetic father of two.” As he listed names, he pointed to them on his arms. “What was your brother’s name?”

You swallowed, and didn't respond immediately. “His name is unimportant to you, because his name is not worthy of coming from your mouth.” 

“Ah, but it was worthy of coming from a weakling’s mouth when you cried out for him?”

You weren't thinking. With a shout of rage, the end of your mace collided with Fritjof’s chin and he stumbled back, and barbarians raised their swords and bows in your direction. “My brother did not deserve to die, and if he had been given the chance to grow into a man, he would have cut your throat as easily as a pig’s!” You screamed, and you watched with a predator’s eyes as Fritjof wiped blood from his mouth. “But he is not here, and so it will be me that will kill you for him.”

Fritjof laughed loudly, and told his men to lower their weapons, because you were not a threat that he could not deal with on his own. “What is your name then? If you kill me, I wish to know who brought me down. And if you don't kill me, I would very much love to put your name on my skin.”

“Ove.” Your voice no longer wavered the way it did when he first began to speak to you. It was level, and you, for the most part, were calm in all of your anger. “Ove is my name, and Ove is the name of the warrior who will strike you down. It is not the name of anyone who belongs as a mark on your skin.”

He stared at you. Furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “Ove?” He repeated, and you took a hesitant step back, leaning your weight on your dominant foot as you prepared for him to attack. “That name is already on my arm,” he said after a while, and your face fell before you could steady it. He took a moment then, to adjust the sleeve of his shirt and reveal more inscriptions on his tan skin. He pointed to a name, scrawled roughly. 

Ove.

“His sister had jolting screams. The type of screams that almost made me question killing the boy.”

“Stop talking,” you hissed, nervous that if he continued you would really lose your composure. “You told me you’d show me Bjarke, so where is he?” 

“You care so much for him,” Fritjof said passively, telling two others to retrieve Bjarke. “Don't you know that caring for people is dangerous? Should you not know that by now, after having your brother killed in front of you?”

“Just show me Bjarke,” you said, not wanting to listen to him speak about something you knew all too well about already. Fritjof continued speaking, but you listened only passively, wondering silently when the man was going to strike out against you and attempt to end your life. Only he seemed perfectly content waiting and talking while a fierce battle took place outside. 

You heard Bjarke before you saw him, heard him groan in pain and yet still curse at the men gripping onto his arms as they led him to meet you and Fritjof in the center of your room. Your eyes widened at the sight of your friend. Fritjof had not lied about using the lead shaker. The right side of Bjarke’s face was hideously deformed from his forehead to his cheek, with cooled lead still sticking to his burns in some places. His eye was completely melted shut, and if it had not been Bjarke, you probably would have turned away in disgust. But this _was_ Bjarke, and when his face lifted to you and hope briefly slid across his face, your mouth fell loosely open. His clothing was in tatters, and there were cuts across his skin that were all freshly formed. Some were even still oozing with blood. 

“I must say he's been awfully resilient. I've cut him every which way just to see when he would break and he's still cursing at us,” Fritjof spoke, walking over to Bjarke and gripping his head by his hair. “But I think it's instead time to just add his name to my arms.”

As a barbarian came up to restrain you by your arms, you ran towards Fritjof, not willing to let another moment go by in which Bjarke was in danger. You slid on your knees, the soft cloth of your pants easily gliding against the marble floors, and jutted the end of your mace out again, this time striking Fritjof in his sternum. As he stumbled back, you leapt back onto your feet, pivoting on your left foot and swinging your right into the side of another man. His grip fell off of Bjarke because of it, and your comrade took that opportunity with welcome arms, fighting off the man beside him and stealing away his sword. 

“You shouldn't fight, Bjarke,” you told him, swinging at a barbarian as he got back on his feet. The blades of your mace connected with the man's shoulder, and the sound of flesh being cut made adrenaline pump through your veins. That was for cutting Bjarke, only for the barbarians, it really was going to end with death. 

“Yeah, you’re right, I'll just go sit down somewhere so that I can die peacefully.” Bjarke’s retort was sharp, but in good humor. He was happy to have a sword back in his hand, and even happier to kill the men who ruined his right eye. 

Pulling your shield off of your back, you briefly turned to look at the doorway of the hall. Other Asgardian soldiers were making their way through now, which only lessened your chance of killing Fritjof. But still, now you didn't have to worry about the other barbarians around you. You could just focus on Fritjof, who was now rolling his shoulders back and testing the weight of his sword in his hands. 

“Don't worry,” Fritjof spoke, “I’ll save you a spot next to your brother.”

The shout of rage that left your throat surprised even yourself, and your feet pushed off of the ground towards the monster. When his sword came down to strike you, the iron met with your shield, and you pushed back against his strength with all of yours. Only, Fritjof stepped to the side, and you stumbled forward in surprise. The sword swung towards your back, and you leapt onto your hands and into a roll to avoid it. As you stood, you raised your shield again, blocking swing after swing as your breath quickened. 

You were being careless. You were being reckless in your movements again because of your anger, and now you could only stand and wait, blocking his hits the best you could. When you slipped up, the tip of his sword scratched against your face, leaving a shallow cut from your cheek to your lip. But you needed to wait. To wait for an opportunity when Fritjof would lag in his movements. For now you could take the beating, stepping back when you had to brace yourself for an impact. 

He was annoyed. You weren't playing his game, and it was proving to be _boring_ for him. “Move!” He screamed, kicking his foot into your shield and forcing you back further. 

When he lifted his leg to do so again you ducked, leaned to the side and swung your mace towards the underside of his thigh. He cried out in pain as your blades caught in his flesh, and when you ripped them out his breath came out like a hiss, and his sword jabbed out at your face like a snake, only narrowly missing its target. With a renewed confidence, you advanced. As he hobbled on his left leg and tried to force himself through the pain, you struck him again in the chest with your mace’s end, knocking him to the floor easily. 

“You slaughtered whole villages, and yet you fall so easily to a warrior half your size?” You taunted, and now you were not only wanting to kill. You wanted this man tortured like Bjarke had been. You wanted lead dripped on his face and you wanted him to be disfigured before his body was left to rot. 

The heel of your boot slammed into his chin, bashing the back of his head into the floor. Not once did the man stop grinning as you kicked him, and when blood from his nose dropped into his mouth he laughed, as though there was a joke being told that you could not hear. Anger reared its ugly head and you shouted at him to stop laughing. You shouted and kicked him again. But when you lifted your boot again, you heard a familiar voice cry out in pain. 

_“Fuck!”_

Bjarke. That was _Bjarke’s_ voice. You turned to look, hearing his cries as your lungs contracted in preparation for the sight you would see. 

“Bjarke!” You screamed, crying out to him as you saw the blade that was sticking out of his right eye. He stumbled back, and you screamed for him again, screamed for someone to take him out of the battle and help him. But when you turned to run and help him yourself, Fritjof’s hands grasped your arm, pulling you harshly down near him. The knife he pulled out pressed against your chest, and before you could fight back, he frightened you still with his words.

“How would you like your shirt cut from you?” He asked, and when your brows furrowed in confusion, he took the time to elaborate. “Do you know the real reason as to why Odin didn't allow women in this war?” You didn't shake your head no, but his grin grew anyway. “Because a woman started this war, and I enjoy killing women far more than killing men. Torturing men is so boring, but torturing a woman like you isn’t. You think that you’re equal to me, even superior, but women are only good for being used as slaves, that way they can't commit crimes and blame them on the likes of men. So tell me, how would you feel if I cut your shirt and revealed to your comrades that you are nothing more than a useless _bitch_?”

As you opened your mouth to speak, Fritjof pushed the knife further against your chest, twisting it slowly. You grimaced, trying to twist away so that you could get to your comrades. Fritjof grabbed you by the hair, standing up and tugging you along with him. 

“You think you can go to your comrade?” He asked you, cackling as he threw you down on the floor. “I can't have you do that. But if you’d like, you can replace him. I'd say we need someone new to scream around here, and I haven't heard your screams in _years._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, folks, is only the beginning of Fritjof. Finally, he's had an opportunity to speak and truly interact with Ove. 
> 
> Your votes on who will confess first:  
> Ove: 3  
> Loki: 10  
> Fritjof: 2
> 
> I really can't thank you all enough for giving this story your support, whether that's through reading it, giving kudos, or commenting. I read through all of the comments last night when I was a little stressed, and they made me cry because of how sweet all of you are! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, as well.


	29. XXIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy

You were weaponless.

You were bleeding.

You were angry.

And, perhaps most importantly, you were scared.

You were frightened more with every punch to the face from Fritjof, every laugh that left his throat, and every drop of blood that ran into your mouth. And while every bit of what was happening to you made your stomach tighten and your mind whirl, you squinted your eyes to try and fight through your dizziness and find Bjarke. He had to be somewhere in the crowd. He had to be _alright_. Certainly, someone came to help him and pulled him away until he could recover. 

“Someone did,” you whispered, coughing as a fist slammed back into your face. 

Fritjof paused at your words, and he lifted you off of the ground by your collar. “You’re still speaking?” He asked, genuinely surprised that you were even still capable of doing so.

At his shocked expression, you grinned briefly, your teeth red from your own blood. “I'll be speaking again when you’re fucking dying,” you spat, but your courage was quickly smothered as he raised his fist again. 

Your eyes closed this time in apprehension, only, you opened them again after hearing Fritjof cry out in pain. To the left of you was a sight that brought a sigh of relief from your tired lungs. Loki stood over Fritjof, his foot pressing on the barbarian’s throat. The look in his eyes was similar to the one you had seen only briefly. He was alert, tense, and his eyes were dark. You had never paid quite enough attention to Loki while on the battlefield, but now, you saw that he held the potential to kill too, and currently he looked as though it would give him great pleasure. 

You couldn't hear his words to Fritjof, but you could feel and see his anger. By looking at him now, you could recognize why people found him to be intimidating. Compared to Loki’s anger, Thor’s was ordinary. Thor was impressive in his size when he was angry, but Loki was someone whom you would be scared to even look in the eye. You had thought you had seen his anger before, when you insulted him for being a coward, but now you realized that that was not true anger at all. That was irritation. What was happening now in front of you was fury. 

And it was that fury that you recognized could take away your opportunity. You cared for Loki, you really did, but as you rolled onto your stomach and forced yourself back onto your shaking legs, you had to do something. You retrieved your mace from when it had flung from your hands, taking a moment to stop your shaking legs. You wouldn’t hurt Loki. You couldn't. Despite swearing to cut down anyone in your way, you were not that strong or ruthless. You would not cut down Bjarke or Asger. You would not cut down Thor. And you would certainly not cut down Loki now. 

But you would shove him off of Fritjof, and that is exactly what happened when you threw your body into his side. Briefly, a flash of searing pain passed through your body, causing your muscles to freeze and contract. As Loki stumbled for his balance, a remorseful look crossed his face, and you quickly tried to ignore the pain. 

“I’m fine, but stay away,” you told him, but did not hesitate on him any longer than that. He was the one that inflicted that brief pain, but you knew he only reacted in that way because he did not have time to evaluate you as a comrade rather than an enemy. 

When you turned back towards Fritjof, shoulders shaking in anger, Loki stood back up. It was when he stepped towards you that you realized he fully intended on preventing you from attacking Fritjof again, and so now, you had a second decision to make. A hand fell in place on your shoulder, and while normally its placement would feel comforting, now it only felt foreboding. 

“I'm sorry,” you told him, and you harshly slammed the end of your mace into his ribs, making sure it was forceful enough to temporarily remove him from your side. He was struck easily, because his guard was never fully up when he was around you in the first place. You heard the gasp of pain from his mouth, but in your mind you reminded yourself that that was surely not the worst pain he's ever felt, and it could have been much worse. Still, even inflicting a small amount of pain on the man that you had become attached to made you regretful.

Dwelling on that, however, would not leave the battle the way you wanted it to be. So without looking back at Loki, you stepped towards Fritjof again, who was back on his feet with an amused glint in his eyes. You twisted your mace in your hands, and with one more step you launched yourself towards him. He stepped to the side, and your mace slammed against the floor. You were only inches away from hitting him, and that small miscalculation brought out a frustrated noise from your throat. It was as you were picking up your mace again that Fritjof swung his sword at you again. 

The constant swinging and ducking and hitting was straining your arms, and your vision was blurring from a blinding headache. While time seemed to move so slowly, and your body screamed that you had been moving for hours, it had only been a few minutes of this back and forth. You landed hits on him, he landed hits on you, and each time he did he took the time to laugh at your misplaced footsteps.

“This is why women are so much more fun before they die,” Fritjof laughed. “You keep fighting even though you’re bound to lose.”

“Quit mocking me!” You shouted, done with hearing his words. As he tried to grab you by the arms, your elbow came in contact with his nose, and the sound of a cracking bone reached your ears that was awfully satisfying to hear. 

You punched him again in the nose, wishing to break it so that it would never heal, and used what was left of your strength to kick him down. As you raised your mace, your heartbeat quickened, and tears filled your eyes because now you felt you had your chance, and it would not be taken from you. 

Only again, there was a glint in his eye that you did not take the time to evaluate. Your mace came down, but it was not Fritjof who fell. A vibration sent you stumbling back, and in a frantic fury you swung your mace again, this time paying careful attention to what was interfering. Purple magic surrounded Fritjof, preventing your mace from slamming into his skull like you wished it to. He was grinning at you, watching your face as your eyes darted to Loki. It had to be him. He was preventing you from killing Fritjof, despite you telling him to stay away. 

Fritjof clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and pointed up towards the second floor of the hall. Where barbarian archers once stood, there were now sorcerers. They were bruised, they were beaten, and they were protecting Fritjof’s army from further harm. Your mouth fell open as you looked at their faces, recognized them as mothers and fathers to the children you had made a promise too. 

They were alive.

But they were helping Fritjof, and you could not do anything about it. You would not hurt the sorcerers. You would not be able to forgive yourself if you ever had to return to Pirko and Maksim only to tell that you had to injure, or kill, their parents. You were not capable of such cruelty, because you knew how it felt to have a family member ripped from you. 

While your eyes were still drawn on the sorcerers, a hand wrapped around your neck and squeezed, sucking the breath from your lungs. Fritjof leaned close, his shield temporarily broken as he said his parting words.

“Next time, I'll have a new torture technique to play with. Perhaps we’ll be granted that time alone.”

As he let go of your throat, your mace rose again. This time it was not stopped by a shield; it hadn’t even regenerated. But pale hands held your mace’s shaft and pushed back against your strike, and two more pairs of hands gripped onto your arms and lifted you from the ground. 

“You cannot!” Loki shouted at you, and in your glaring stubbornness you kicked out at him, shouting for Asger and Bjarke to let you down. 

They managed to get you to the door before you fled from their grip, but by then it was far too late. The shield had expanded to the majority of the building, and was only pushing you further away. From the inside, Fritjof stood, wiping blood from his nose. When he caught your glare, he tugged at his shirt, and that was all he needed to do to get his reminder across to you.

He knew you were a woman, and he knew who the name Ove truly belonged to. 

“They will keep spreading the shield, and they _do_ possess the capability to cover the whole village, at least for a while,” Loki announced, his hands finally letting go of your mace as he looked to his brother. “It would be foolish for us to stay, and would only mean more death and more injuries.”

“We will leave,” Thor agreed, casting a crestfallen look to the many who had been injured.

Among the soldiers who had his gaze cast upon them was you and Bjarke. You turned your back on the force field around the hall, looking into Loki’s eyes only briefly before you walked closer towards Bjarke to examine his eye. Blood ran down the side of his face, and your stomach churned. 

“He hurt you so, and you would still not let me kill him?” You asked, and your voice was somehow torn between bitterness and empathy. 

“You'd die too, that way,” he reminded you, but despite his words you could feel he was angry at you for your choices, and that anger was resonating off of Asger and Loki as well.

But still, the prince did not wish to yell, or scold you for your recklessness just yet. “Let me heal you,” he whispered, so that only you could hear. 

You vehemently denied him the right, shaking your head as you forced him with your gaze to look towards Bjarke. “I do not need healing, he does,” you said shortly, and you secured your shield on your back as you began to trudge towards the outskirts of the village. “Heal him unless you wish for me to leave this army to fight on my own.”

Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to fight on your own. You just wanted time alone to yourself, and you wanted to make sure that Bjarke got the medical attention he needed. Bruises and cuts lined your face and your body, but it wasn't nearly as bad as what Bjarke was suffering through. Loki could take the time to heal him, but not even his magic would ever allow for Bjarke to fully recover. There was no such thing as magic that could bring back his eye, or reverse the scars he would suffer. 

There was also no magic that could erase Fritjof’s knowledge of you. He had killed an uncountable amount of people, and yet he could remember killing your brother, and he could remember hearing your screams. He found it all out so easily, and all because of unchecked emotions. If you could have controlled your facial expressions, perhaps he wouldn't have been clued off to the events of your past. Perhaps then he would not have been made aware that you were a woman. Fritjof knew more than even Loki, and it was Loki you trusted, it was Loki you opened up to. 

“Yeah, look what that got me,” you scoffed, finally founding Halvor, who was standing near Bodil in mourning. “She didn't deserve it,” you told your horse, patting his neck as he lifted his muzzle away from Bodil’s body. “But she will be avenged, just like all the other lives lost to Fritjof.”

As you mounted Halvor, you heard Thor call your voice. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on Halvor’s reins tightened, and your voice caught in your throat.

“Try not to be angry at my brother, or your friends,” he said, and you spit blood from your mouth out onto the ground. Thor, unphased by your attitude, and understanding of it, simply ignored your gesture. “If you wish to be angry you can direct it at me. My father has been angry at Loki more than needed. He does not need you to be angry at him as well.”

“I am not…” You twisted the reins around your wrist, trying to make your final decision about your emotions. “I am not angry with him entirely,” you told Thor.

“Really now?” He asked, not at all believing your answer.

“I am angry at Fritjof. I am _always_ angry at Fritjof, and perhaps that means I am always angry in general. But Loki pulled me away for good reasons, as did Asger and Bjarke. I am loathing them for caring, not for anything else.”

Thor laughed at that, and you were surprised he was even capable of a sound like that after all of the death that occurred in a day. “My brother has never been very caring. Don't loathe him for showing that emotion for once in his life.”

You nodded once, no longer wishing to use your voice. As you turned your head away from the God of Thunder, you felt his gaze linger on you for a few moments, as though there was something else he wished to inquire about. But rather than speak on it, he rode away, and when the army was ready to set off again, you were left wondering what words were left unsaid. 

Pondering that was what you did to keep yourself distracted on the ride to the next village. A village to the north offered to help the army. The people there were knowledgeable in herbs and in medicines, and Thor thought that that was necessary for all of the soldiers, even the ones that weren't injured. It was meant to be a time of rest, and of hopefully rekindling the spirit of the army after losing so many. 

While you thought about Thor, and his words to you, unconsciously you were noting the drop in morale, and the drop in soldiers. The men who surrounded you now were lucky. _You_ were lucky. If you had not been you would have been amongst the dead warriors. If your comrades had not pulled you from battle, you would have been dead.

And this was not the first time that comrades had saved you. Bjarke and Asger tore you from the battlefield the first time, when the army was called to retreat and you did not hear them. Loki retrieved you the second time, when arrows pierced through your torso. And now, when you were going to commit treason, they grabbed you again. 

Were you truly so much of a nuisance that you had to be rescued before doing something your mind screamed at you to do?

“Useless,” you hissed, bringing Halvor into the stables of the village. “Halvor, look at me, do I look like a warrior that could kill Fritjof?” You asked the horse quietly, this time aware that others could be listening.

Halvor nudged his muzzle against your palm, and he nickered quietly. You had rarely heard him nicker in such a soft, affectionate way, and it brought a small smile to your face. 

“Ove. Can we talk?”

And the smile was gone, replaced by trepidation in response to the agitation in Loki’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, the encounter with Fritjof wasn't _entirely_ awful. Our main characters are still alive and kicking.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! We've reached 330+ kudos and 4000+ hits! That's so crazy to me. I'm also super happy to receive so many comments from people saying that they binged to catch up! 
> 
> And THANK YOU to GreyDove for the fanart! I never would have imagined that people would want to take the time to draw a scene from this fic.
> 
> Go look at their art!: https://thegreydove.deviantart.com/art/Hubris-Fanart-The-Letter-713239050


	30. XXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did no one tell me my Roman numerals were all messed up for the last five chapters

_Can we talk?_

And yet, despite him asking that question, he didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, because as you walked away from the others and towards the forest, he stayed silent. You did too, but only because the only words that would leave your mouth would be questions you didn’t want to hear the answer to. Was he angry at you? He most certainly was. Did his opinions about you change? Did he, too, think you were useless? Would he agree with Fritjof about you being weak if he had seen you the day of your brother’s death?

“Speak already!” The words left your mouth in a frantic shout, disrupting Loki from his own thoughts. The man beside you turned to face you after taking a few steps more, and you couldn't tell from his expression what you were in for.

“What did Fritjof say to you that made you freak out the way you did?”

You froze, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Just that I'm useless,” you responded. “He knows I'm a woman, too. He saw right through me.”

Loki’s forehead creased, and his mouth twisted into a frown. Why you thought you could withhold information from him you did not know. It never worked. He always knew when you were troubled or when you were lying, and now would be no exception. “ _How_ did he see right through you?”

“What do you even mean, Loki?” You asked him, knowing very well what he meant. “He just knew. Maybe my bandages were showing or maybe my voice raised an octave when I wasn't controlling it as well as I should have. It doesn't matter! He just knows.”

“Why lie to me about it, Ove? I thought we had gotten past the point of lies between the two of us.” 

He was hurt. The signs were all there and you wanted to be blind to them. His shoulders were tense, his fingers were twitching in that small way whenever he was troubled, his eyebrows were furrowed, his lips were pursed. All because you were afraid to tell him the full truth about yourself.

“He knows my name is not Ove,” you said finally, and Loki’s head tilted forward just barely, prompting you to continue. “He keeps tattoos of those he killed if he found them particularly interesting. My brother’s name is on his arm.”

You couldn't continue. Your mouth opened but words didn't leave, and instead you greedily gulped in the cold air to prevent yourself from choking on silent daggers. Loki could put together the pieces himself. With every glance towards him you saw him judging whether his guess was correct.

“Ove is your brother’s name,” he said, and you tasted fresh blood from your lips. “You chose your brother’s name as your own alias, for the same reason you use his mace. So that it could be him to kill Fritjof.”

You didn't have to answer him to confirm his statements. Slowly, he was unraveling you. Discovering hidden aspects of your life that you had never told him about. 

“Part of me believed that if I used his name, and his mace, I would not be so useless. But time and time again I am, no matter my alias.” You sucked in a breath, taking a step away from Loki, because you felt he was suffocating you. “Thor told me not to be angry at you. But I am. I do not deserve to be cared about and I am not worthy of friends or family. I care about someone, and they die, or become injured. My brother died, Bjarke lost an eye. If everyone just left me alone it wouldn't be that way. Not to me, at least. And so I am _angry_ because you do not leave me alone, even when I ask you to. I could have killed—”

“You could have killed _yourself_ , Ove! You could have killed yourself and yet you would have been entirely fine with it!” 

You jumped with every shout from Loki’s lungs, but not from fear. He was right, and him shouting those words to your face was throwing stones at your walls and cracking them.

“If we did not pull you from him, he would have sunk his knife into your stomach and he would have killed you, but not before drawing out as much of a _scream_ as he could! If you could look at yourself right now you would recognize the death sentence you tried to give yourself. There is not a single part of you not covered in blood, and much of it is your own from the cuts and punches he dealt you. And yet you would not even let me heal you. Even now you’re chewing a hole through your lip again.” 

He shook his head, gripping onto your shoulders and turning you to face him. “ _Look_ at me, Ove. For once in your life let someone care about you, and stop haphazardly putting yourself in harm’s way. You are _not_ useless! But you are stubborn, and you are the most maddening person I have ever met. You show me some things about you but as soon as you feel as though _I care_ about you, you block me out again. Quit doing that! It's so mind numbingly aggravating to know that the person you—”

You wished for him to shut up. To stop being angry at you and to stop throwing stones. Your hands smacked against his cheeks, and your fingers tangled in his hair as you pressed yourself forward, your lips connecting with his and stopping his words from ever leaving them.

It was not the type of kiss that you always heard woman gush about. It wasn't graceful, and it certainly wasn't beautiful. The grime on your hands was smearing against his cheeks and the taste in your mouths was nothing but the bitter iron from your cuts and bruises. It was a kiss of desperation, and of longing, and of anger. You pressed your lips against his until you felt his angry grip on your shoulders loosen, and your hand found its way to the back of his head to press yourself closer to him. 

When you finally pulled your mouth away from his, you could not bring yourself to drop your hands back to your side; afraid that if you did, he would vanish. He shared a similar sentiment, and his arms slid from your shoulders up to your face, where his touch was gentle, flitting over your injuries with careful precision. His mouth opened and again you felt fear bubble up inside you, and you kissed him again. Only this time when you pulled away for air he prevented you from kissing him again.

“Ove,” he whispered, and your eyes met his as his anger evaporated. “Tell it true, because I cannot hear another lie tonight, and I can't do this if it is a lie. What do you wish to say to me? Without fear of consequences, and without fear of the future, what do you wish to say to me?”

“Loki, I don't–what are—” 

Of course, you knew what you wished to say. But no matter what Loki told you to do, you could not push past the fear of saying it aloud. Not now. 

“If I say what I wish to first, will you _promise_ me to respond, and not to run away? It does not have to be a response to appease me, just an honest one.”

“I promise,” you told him, and his fingers brushed against cuts, leaving that familiar warmth in their wake. 

“I love you,” he spoke, and your breath caught in your throat. “There is no one else who aggravates me as much as you do, and yet there is no one else who understands me as much as you do. And with every moment I spend with you, and everytime I see your face grow red from words I spoke, I grow more fond of you.”

As your throat clenched, and Loki healed more of the cuts on your face, you thought you could kiss him again. Kissing him would be easier than telling him through your words. You had kissed before, you knew how to do so. But you had never told anyone what Loki just told you. 

“I love you too.” Your voice was quiet, and full of tremors despite how short of a phrase it was. But once the words left you, Loki’s expression rewarded you. His eyes crinkled as a smile grew, and in them you could see the fondness he admitted to you. “I love you,” you said again, still finding your voice as you forced away the thoughts that told you this was dangerous, and would bring no good to you because you didn't deserve it. 

“Never did I think the day would come when I would hear those words leave your mouth, or I would be able to hold you in an embrace like this.” He kissed the top of your head, pulling you closer to him. “And yet the idea of all of this scares me far more than anything else in this realm does. You are so reckless and determined that everytime we go to battle I fear you will push yourself too far, and one day there will be no magic left in me to heal your wounds.”

His voice was soft, and gentler than you had ever heard it before. Your fingers traced the seams on his leather gear, and you thought of words and promises you could tell him to assure him that you would not be going anywhere anytime soon. But you could not promise him such a thing, as you knew not the future and were not one for empty vows that you could not carry out. 

“Loki, by the nines, I will fight for my own life now, if not only for the sake of you. But my recklessness has never been tamed, not once in my life. Even if Fritjof were to die, I think I would find another thing to be reckless about,” you told him, watching as he tried to hide the disappointment he felt as he realized that you were correct. “I am reckless about much in my life, and for now, I wish to be reckless in loving you.”

 _Loving_ terrified you. Truly, Loki’s words of being frightened by loving you were how you felt about loving him. Months ago, you had promised yourself to not grow attached, and now, you were more attached than you had ever been in years, to a man you had once thought you loathed. Airy laughter reached your ears, reminding you of just how much you loved that laugh. 

“If there was ever a thing I am okay with you being reckless about, I suppose it is that.” He paused for a moment, and his eyes fell to the hole in your shirt from Fritjof’s knife. His gaze grew dark, and slowly, you recognized the protective rage that overcame him. “If I could, I would have him skinned for the injuries he caused you today.”

You smiled, and you grabbed his hands and held them in yours. “I had three arrows through my torso, Loki. What he did today is merely aggravating, because now I'll have more scars.” You paused, grinning. “Although, if you still wish to have him skinned I would gladly offer to help do so.”

“Ah, of course,” he said, rolling his eyes at your proposal. “I would not expect anything less from a woman as vindictive as you. I fear for any man who wrongs you.”

“Take note of that,” you hummed, a mischievous glint in your eyes that could match even Loki’s. 

“The only wrong I could do you is refusing to allow you to go back to Asger and Bjarke for the night,” he responded, growing bored of standing as he pulled you down to the soft grass beside him. 

You rested your head on his arm, finding it easier to do so now that Loki had healed a few of the largest cuts. You were certain your face was still covered in bruises, dirt, and blood, and you did not know how Loki could ever find you appealing in the state you were in. 

“They would know,” you murmured. “I already expect questions to be asked tonight, even if we haven't been alone for long. Thor, too, would probably question you.”

“Could we not just say that I was healing your wounds again?” 

“Not if I return the way I am now.” You brushed your fingers against his cheek, rubbing off grime you left there. On his lips, a small amount of blood was smeared, and yet he seemed entirely unbothered by it. “I would also suggest that if we go with that excuse, you clean your face off before returning. You have my blood on your lips,” you laughed. 

“How charming,” Loki said sarcastically, as one of his hands wandered through your hair absentmindedly. “I am not bothered by it. Ever since the first day I saw you, you’ve had traces of someone’s blood on you.” 

You scoffed, pulling away from him to sit up. He frowned at the movement, but stayed content where he was, his eyes following your form. “Only because it is difficult to wash up as a woman in an army full of men. And it is getting too cold for me to stand to wash in a stream or a pond,” you reminded him, though now especially, a warm bath would be soothing. That way, you could take the time to scrub the dirt from your skin, and soak your hair and free it of knots.

“I could hide you from their view, if you wish to use the baths at the inn,” he offered, and you quickly shook your head at the thought.

“That would not hide my eyes from having to look at parts of them I do not want to see,” you said, and at the thought of seeing so many of your comrades without clothes, a violent shiver crept up your spine, eliciting a laugh from the prince beside you.

Your prince sat up beside you, wrapping a careful arm around your waist and pulling you towards him. He left a soft kiss on your neck before speaking again. “Perhaps I could come with you then, to distract you from looking at all of the _other_ men?” 

A blush spread across your face, and you gently elbowed him in the ribs, making him display quite the dramatic frown. “That would mean you would be looking at me, too, and there is not much to see besides ugly bruises and scars. Why you are attracted to me, I don't know. And besides, you, Prince Loki, using the communal baths when there are private ones set up for you? People would think you are there to trick them.”

“The only tricks I would be playing are blinding them if they dare to look in your direction, even if you are hidden from them.” He thought for a moment, his chin resting on your shoulder. “You are an unmatched beauty, Ove. Scars and bruises only tell stories of your strength, not of your weakness. There is not a single part of you that is hard on the eyes.” He sighed, rocking you in his arms as his gaze trailed from the village and back to you. “Though if you insist, I will distract Thor from entering the baths that were prepared for us, so you can make use of it yourself.”

“If it is not too much of a hassle, I would kill for a hot bath,” you said, already feeling grateful for the opportunity. Being in a lit space would also give you an opportunity to assess the new cuts and bruises you had, and to change out the bandages around your waist. You had plenty of new wounds to dress, as you could not rely on Loki to heal every little cut but still did not want an infection.

“I will arrange it then. I think you have already killed enough for one day,” Loki remarked, kissing you one last time before he stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO.  
> Depending on how you look at it, most of you were _kind of_ right. Loki confessed first, but Ove made the first move. 
> 
> Also, I really couldn't help but go with a slightly stereotypical confession. I normally stray from tropes, but I LOVE angry confessions.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! It means so so much to me to hear about how some of you binged this whole fic!


	31. XXXI

You had waited for Loki to come back and find you before you were able to actually enter the private bath. You were concerned with going back to your room beforehand, because that was an easy way for Bjarke and Asger to catch you acting fairly suspicious. And while they might be confused about you coming back around to the room entirely clean, you would at least have more time to think of excuses. 

So after Loki had thought of a way of keeping Thor occupied, you had entered the bathroom. Loki had insisted on hiding your presence through an illusion anyway, and it did put you much more at ease. Even if Thor, or anyone else, were to enter the room, they would not be aware of your presence. You, rather awkwardly however, would be aware of theirs until you could escape. But now was not the time to be thinking over troubling matters, because now you were gleefully neck deep in hot water. 

As much as you tried to relax, Loki had once again left you with much to think about. Loki loved you, or at least claimed he did. Why he could possibly find you even the least bit attractive was beyond you, however. You didn't think you were too unattractive, at least physically. You were fit, and for the most part you carried yourself confidently no matter the situation, but you were not the typical beauty you could imagine a prince with. When you were a little girl, you’d imagine the princes with women who owned beautiful, intricately designed gowns, and never had a misplaced hair. They wouldn't trip on their dresses and they’d be knowledgeable about manners and politics. 

They’d have flawless skin. The type of skin that now was far out of reach for you because yours was riddled with scars. True bachelorettes to princes didn't have scars, or at most only a few that they received during their childhood. You could not imagine yourself in a dress anymore. The last time you wore one, you were still just a child, and shortly after you recovered a little from your brother’s death you had opted for pants instead of skirts, because those allowed for better movement. You doubted you’d even be able to walk in heels, or to take a few steps without tripping or dragging mud through the fabric of your attire. Loki, surely, would be ashamed to have a woman like you by his side in a formal scenario. He'd have to apologize for your sharp mouth and quick wit, and remind you to sit with your legs crossed rather than have them open the way men would in a casual situation. 

And yet, you had to remind yourself that you were not the one who confessed love first. You had initiated the first move, yes, but _he_ was the one who said those three words first. You saw in his eyes that familiar glimmer you had seen the first time you had made him laugh, and heard the same genuine voice he spoke in when he opened up to you about his past. So you pushed aside those nagging thoughts in your mind and tried to relish in the idea of being loved by someone who cared for all that you were, and did not mind if you were brash or unladylike. 

As you pulled yourself from your thoughts and removed yourself from the bath to bandage the cuts that Loki had not healed, you pressed your hands against your cheeks and realized now that you had been crying, and for once the tears were not brought on by fear. You were overwhelmed with a warmth that spread across your chest, and your stomach twisted anxiously as you repeated Loki’s words to yourself. 

_I love you_ , he had said, and your eyes glazed over again, making attending to your wounds a lengthier process. 

But you could not bask in the words that left his mouth any longer in this moment, as the longer you were away from the others, the more their mouths could move to question you. Your hands moved quickly to bandage your chest again, although you longed to rid of the bruising bandages forever. Briefly, you felt shame as you dressed yourself in borrowed clothing once again, although this time you had asked Loki for clothing that had less markings of being his. Despite him arguing that he wished to always see you dressed in his colors, he gave in upon receiving a roll of your eyes and a heavy, frustrated huff of air. 

The clothing he gave you this time fit you much better, although you still had to tie leather around your waist to get the pants to stay up, and you still had to roll up the sleeves. You were grateful to be in plain colors again, as well. As comfortable as Loki’s previous choice in shirts was, you felt bad about ruining it. In this attire, there were no fancy patterns to concern yourself with. 

When you were done taking your time to get dressed, you returned back to your room, poking your head in the door to find both Asger and Bjarke already ready to just fall asleep. You quietly listened to their voices before entering, just happy to hear the two of them able to converse with each other again. When you finally entered the room, they both looked up at you, and you nervously made your way over to your bag. 

“You’re actually...clean,” Bjarke said, and your face showed your irritation with the comment.

“Finally,” Asger huffed, and when you turned to look at him he just grinned. 

“You two get back together again and immediately go back to picking on me, huh?” You asked, sitting down on the edge of one of the beds. You could feel the questions on the tip of their tongues, but, surprisingly, neither of them asked them. And for that, you were grateful. 

“We’re making up for lost time,” Bjarke said, and you smiled briefly.

It was good for Bjarke to be joking around, but you wanted to know all that had happened to him. Loki had thankfully listened to your request, and he had healed the right side of Bjarke’s face as much as he possibly could. Which, while it would never be able to give Bjarke his vision back, it at least stopped the bleeding and closed off the wound. 

“I'm glad you’re alive, Bjarke,” you said quietly, and the silence you received as an answer made you unsure if you should have ever let the words leave your mouth. Perhaps it was too soon for him to talk about it.

“Ove nearly gave me a headache the night you left. He wouldn't shut up about how much he _missed you_ and how he couldn’t sleep,” Asger mocked, bringing back humor to the conversation.

“I didn't say anything about missing him,” you argued, and Bjarke took notice of how you didn't argue against not being able to sleep. “But your sister certainly would.” You stood to open your bag, pulling out the bracelet inside and pressing it in Bjarke’s hands. “I'm not holding onto this for you any longer. It's your responsibility to make sure you come out of all of this alive and are able to give this to her. She would want it from you, not me.”

You tilted your head as he looked up at you, squinting as he swallowed and his eye watered. “Don't cry,” you said quickly, afraid you would start crying as well if he kept it up. 

Bjarke reached out to grab your arm, but narrowly missed and grasped air instead. When he realized his miscalculation, he closed his eye and dropped his hands, squeezing his knees. Both Asger and you stayed silent, watching your comrade with weary eyes. 

“I _never_ want either of you two to go through what that bastard did to me,” Bjarke said, wiping at his eye and trying to blink away his tears. “It's so fucking humiliating to not be able to even reach for something without missing. Someone else has to direct my horse for me just so that I wouldn't lead it off the damn path.”

You didn't know what to say, or how to comfort your friend. It was Bjarke that was always the comforting one, always the one to try and brighten your day after a terrible battle, and now he was the one breaking down. You sat down next to him, your hand falling in place on his back. “All it will take is a few days for your perception to be more accurate, Bjarke. You won't have to feel so handicapped then.”

You glanced at Asger, hoping he would have something to say as well, but he pursed his lips and gently shook his head. He had no more to add, and knew of no way to deal with Bjarke’s trauma. And so for a few minutes, you all stayed quiet, and only the sounds of Bjarke’s crying and your small hushes could be heard. 

“Thank you,” Bjarke spoke, his voice cracking even though it was nearly a whisper. “To both of you. I...I would have died if you two hadn't been there to help, and then I would not be able to go home to my sister.”

The falter in his voice finally drew Asger in closer, and the larger man sat down on the bed as well. “We will get through all of this war together, just as we did in the very beginning,” he promised, and you gave him a determined nod as a response. 

“In the morning, I have a lot to tell Thor about,” Bjarke said quietly, and your hand lifted from his back as you gave him a perplexed look. “You learn a lot about someone as they’re torturing you, apparently,” he further explained.

“Is there more than just him keeping the other sorcerers alive?” You asked, but quickly added, “If you wish to not speak about it tonight, we do not have to.”

“As cowardly as I feel to admit it, I don't think I will be able to sleep as it is. Talking about it would only make it worse,” Bjarke admitted, and you quickly made a point to remind him of your own nightmares.

He was not alone. You and plenty of other soldiers were haunted in the night by their own minds because of traumatic experiences. Bjarke experiencing the same would not make you look down upon him in anyway. You only regretted that you would have to sit in wonder until the next morning, but you would force your mind to rest. 

“To not dwell on this topic, Ove, are you going to keep borrowing Loki’s clothing, or would you rather go out tomorrow and find some for yourself to keep?” 

You were shocked by Asger’s question, and you shifted uncomfortably in your spot. There was no use lying to attempt to tell them that you were not wearing Loki’s clothing, but you supposed the fit of it itself gave that away. “I'll go out tomorrow. I need clothing that fits, anyway. It was my mistake to think that this war would end sooner,” you mumbled, feeling pressured by their gazes. “ _Quit it_ , it's not like I can borrow either of your clothing. You’re both too big.”

“Sure,” Bjarke said, a flash of disbelieve passing through his face. “Thank you, though, for convincing the Dark Prince to heal me. I'm surprised he even knew how to heal.”

“I'm sure it was a wonderful bonding experience for you both,” you remarked, rolling your eyes at the use of Loki’s unfortunate nickname. “And the girl who healed me taught him.”

“And that came in handy when he took the time to heal the cuts on your face, right.” Asger spoke slowly, drawing out his words and watching your face as it slowly grew a darker shade of red. 

You quickly stood up from the bed, walking over to one of the empty ones and sitting on that one instead. You crossed your arms and pointed at them, narrowing your eyes. “What are you two assholes trying to get at?” You asked, even if you didn't want the truthful answer. 

They exchanged a glance, smirks passing over their faces for merely a second before they both shrugged. 

“It is nothing,” Bjarke said.

“We weren't getting at anything,” Asger said.

And you sneered at their simultaneous responses. “Then quit asking stupid questions,” you quipped, and you let yourself fall back fully onto your bed. 

The room was silent, and you were quite grateful that neither of them came out about their theories. Asger and Bjarke both shifted to their own beds, grateful that in this room, there were three separate beds. It was a luxury to be staying in an inn as nice as you were, and Thor was absolutely correct in saying that this village is what the soldiers would need. Every village dweller was kind, offering to help in any way they could, and your mind was at rest knowing that Fritjof had not touched this village or its people. 

“Asger, Bjarke,” you said quietly, staring up at the wood ceiling as you repeatedly bit down on your lip. When you briefly glanced over to see if you had their attention, your nerves spiked when you found that they were both looking in your direction. “I hope–I hope you know that I am trying to uphold the promise I made you both. I trust you. Both of you. And I am grateful for your company, and for both of you reminding me when I'm being an asshole.”

 _Eloquent_. Always perfectly eloquent, you were.

“You get what I'm sayin’,” you mumbled, wiping your hands down your face in aggravation. “I just thought that I should speak about it or somethin’, because I'd be even more of a mess if you two weren’t around.”

“We get it,” Asger said, and his genuine smile grew into a wide grin. “If it weren't for us, you’d be lost. Like a small, forgotten dog.”

“Way to fucking ruin my thanks, Ass. I decide to get all emotional and shit with you two and that’s the response I get? You call me a small dog?”

“I disagree with Asger on that part,” Bjarke spoke, holding back his laughter with a hand over his mouth. “You’re at most a medium sized dog.”

“Har har,” you deadpanned. “I'm never thanking you two for anything again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for 440+ kudos, and for the overwhelming support on the previous chapter. You guys seriously make me cry with your compliments. 
> 
> Also!! A big thank you to Geeks4Squeaks for drawing some awesome fanart!
> 
> Halvor and Ove:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bb-gY4oA1V9/?hl=en&taken-by=geeks4squeaks 
> 
> Ove:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bb-faW-A21Q/?hl=en&taken-by=geeks4squeaks
> 
> Loki:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bb-epMyg_c2/?hl=en&taken-by=geeks4squeaks 
> 
> Loki Guarding Ove’s Tent:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bb-F0k_gjfK/?hl=en&taken-by=geeks4squeaks
> 
> GreyDove also did some amazing fanart earlier:  
> https://thegreydove.deviantart.com/art/Hubris-Fanart-The-Letter-713239050
> 
> ((On a side note, does anyone know how to title links on mobile?))


	32. XXXII

When morning came, word spread around about Bjarke having information to speak about. Thor, however, insisted that now was not the time to listen, as there were still soldiers that needed medical attention, and the village people were discussing the prospect of a party to liven everyone up. You were uninterested. There was no reason for you to go to a party, especially if said party meant having to converse with women and men you cared little about. 

There would be music, Thor had said, but music meant having to watch couples dance together, and it meant the possibility of you having to dance as well. You were not good on your feet in such a way, and you did not know how to lead, either. The only dancing you've ever done was when you were little, and while those memories of dancing with your family were fond, they would not help you recover the lost skill. And so you would be glued to your seat, refusing to approach anyone who you thought might ask you to partake in the godforsaken activity. 

There would also be drinks too, and drinks, you thought, you could get behind. It would not be appropriate for you to miss out on the social event without good reason to, and at least a few drinks in your system would allow the day to pass by quicker. Perhaps they could even get your mind off of wanting to know what Bjarke knows about Fritjof. Now that the steaming bath water was no longer cooling your anger, you were about ready to hit someone again. 

“Ove,” Asger said, pointing to the knife you had jabbed into the countertop. “You really should find better ways of getting out your anger. Next time you might accidentally stab your own leg.”

You glanced down at your knife, and quietly pried it from the wood, setting it down out of arm's reach for good measure. So, maybe you were _more_ than ready to hit someone again. “Sorry,” you said quickly, pulling your hands down to your lap. “I just don't understand why we need a party, when we could be discussing our next move.”

Bjarke snorted, rolling the bottom of his glass back and forth. “Unlike you, we all could use a break. Three arrows through your torso and you’re still somehow good and ready to go, but not everyone else is like that.”

“Well then, at the very least I should be allowed to miss out on this whole event. Thor didn't have to nag me into coming.”

“Thor didn't _nag_ you into anything. He ordered you.”

The smug smile on Asger’s face caused your own lips to curl downwards, and you spun around on your stool to lean your elbows against the counter and look out at the beginnings of the party. Workers were setting together large dinner tables, and clearing out space in the middle of the room as a spot to dance. Meats were getting placed on large dishes and set in the middle of the tables, and mugs for beer were set at every spot. The very placement of every plate screamed of how important the village thought this event to be, and they wasted no time in trying to make everything perfect. 

You didn't understand the celebration. How could you celebrate when the battle was a failure? People had died, villages were destroyed, and yet, here everyone was, preparing for a feast as though victory was theirs. You thought of the villages you had passed through during your journey. You thought of Hjarta, a village whose people had barely enough to eat, and you thought of Ormarsa, a village that was overrun with barbarians and the stench of death. But here was a village untouched, ignorant to the destruction around it. 

“At least we can drink,” you said, wondering if the liquor here was strong enough to make you forget about your troubles for the night. 

 

The actual party began a few hours later, and you were still perched on your stool near the bar, only this time you gratefully held a pitcher of ale in your hands. Pitchers looked like they fit perfectly in the hands of the other soldiers, but with you it seemed comically large. And whilst you boasted previously about being able to outdrink Asger and Bjarke, you were still sipping on your first, and were already fairly tipsy. 

The familiar tingle and warmth of alcohol had set in, and you were beginning to enjoy the party a bit more. You still wanted to leave for at least a while, and then come back when Bjarke and Asger were likely to be drunk for entertainment’s sake, but you had to wait for an opportunity to arise for you to sneak away. Your two friends had settled on joining you at the bar, deciding between the two of themselves that if they didn’t, you would run off. If you could curse the two of them for always being correct in their intuition about you, you would.

“How bad would it be if I went to go bring Halvor some apples?” You asked, and before they could even respond, you were already filling your arms with apples. “I need a break from this music,” you added in a mumble.

You ignored their protests, and made sure you were able to walk away holding your pitcher as well. On the way out to head towards the stables, you squinted at a pile of plums for a few seconds. Should you? You should. You sighed, managing to fit a few plums on top of your pile of apples for a horse you didn’t really care for. 

Of course, the horse that was loudest when you entered the stable was Halvor. He popped his head over the railing and snorted, stomping a foot on the ground once he saw that you carried apples. You quickly set your pitcher down, giving Halvor an energetic, and slightly drunk, hello. When the beast saw you wet plums to the side, he huffed, clearly not pleased that you sought to feed Casimir as well.

“All horses have to eat,” you told him, holding out an apple as a truce. “I hate parties, Halv. Only good for drinkin’ and tryin’ not to get angry.”

His gaze scrutinized you, and you placed another apple in the gate for when he was finished with the other one. You had Casimir to feed as well, even though the black horse was staring at you with a deadly gaze. You smiled, raising up a plum to her and rotating it in your grip. “Can’t hate me if I give into your pompous tastes,” you joked, carefully pushing the plum out and retracting your fingers away when the horse went down to bite. “Issa thanks, you bitch. You had to put up with some extra weight while I was injured.”

You left a second plum the same way you did the apple for Halvor, and settled on sitting right in between the two horses, leaning against the divider. You could still hear the music from inside of the building, and so, in hopes of drowning the noise out, you took another swig of alcohol. You ignored Halvor’s irritated snorts in favor of taking another drink, only when you lifted your drink again you saw Loki out of the corner of your eyes.

“How do you always know where I’m at?” You asked him, and watched as he walked closer with a smirk on his face.

“Two reasons, my love,” he spoke, and seemed to pause to watch your face grow red at the use of the doting term. “The first is that you are _always_ talking to your horse, and the second is that Asger pointed me in your direction upon my request.”

“Oh,” was your simple response, because you were still caught up in the warmth that his words caused you to feel.

“If you are going to react this way everytime I call you by a name like that, I think I will have to do so more often,” he hummed, and to avoid responding you took another swig. He took in your form a few moments more, noting how your face and ears were still tinged red despite him saying nothing more to make them that way. “How much have you been drinking?” He asked with a laugh, and you shrugged.

“I lost count,” you lied, glancing up at him and being unable to hold in your laughter at the lie. “Two pitchers. Barely. I’m not finished with this one yet,” you elaborated, even though this confession will surely give away how much of a lightweight you are. 

“And with alcohol in your system you still couldn’t stand to stay at the party?”

“Alcohol makes me fidgety.” You raised a wobbly hand to show him what you meant, and he took the opportunity to place his hand in yours and pull you up to your feet. “Why make me stand, Loki?” You whined, and he went one step further to make you place your pitcher to the side, near his horse. You frowned at the horse, catching a glint in her eye that you didn’t approve of. And soon enough, Casimir nudged the pitcher just enough to make it crash to the stable floor. “You damned nightmare!” You cried, looking to Loki pointedly. “I even brought your pretentious horse plums.”

“And I’m sure she enjoyed them,” Loki mused, running a hand down the black mare’s muzzle. “However, Casimir is stubbornly selfish.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” you snorted, and Loki twisted you around in his arms, holding your back against his chest. “Terribly selfish,” you added with a hum, although now his selfishness was incredibly welcome, because he kept you warm in his grasp and protected you from the cold weather. 

He pressed his lips against your cheek, and your hands moved up to grab onto his arms. Briefly, you looked away from his horse and tilted your head to look at him, and the moment your eyes met his he pressed another gentle kiss against your lips. The two of you remained silent, but the soft smiles on your faces showed that both of you were completely content. 

“Can I truly be sure that all of this is not just an alcohol induced dream?” 

Loki’s grip on you tightened just a little, and he rested his chin on your head as he contemplated your remark. “It would be quite the descriptive dream if it were one,” he commented. “And it would be very disappointing for me if somehow I wake up from this as well, only to discover that you are still vehemently denying the possibility of love between the two of us. Then I would not be able to refer to you as my love, or be able to simply hold you in my arms such as this.”

“I must admit that part of me is still tempted to punch you, if not to make up for lost chances,” you jested.

“Oh how you wound me,” Loki said sarcastically, and finally he freed you from his arms so that you could twist on your heels to face him. “If at all you feel the urge to hit me with the force you put into that jab to my ribs, please seek out Fiske to hit instead.”

You knew he was joking, from the grin on his face and the way his hands still lingered on your arms, and yet guilt surged its way through you, and a frown fell onto your face. Loki, seeming to realize his mistake, frowned as well.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, and the alcohol was surely getting to you now, as you swayed in your spot until Loki grasped you carefully by the shoulders. “I just–I wanted–I was so close…”

“I deserved the hit, if not for my actions then but for previous ones,” he assured you, though you still felt in turmoil for your actions. “However, I still stand with my previous opinion, even though I know you wish not to hear it. You should start to take others’ advice into account, because you never seem to listen to your own body when you are growing tired. Fritjof could have killed you yesterday, Ove.”

If Loki had never told you that he loved you, you were certain you would have immediately lashed out at him for his words. Instead, you stood quietly, a concentrated look on your face as you tried to cope with the outburst of anger you were feeling. You knew that for the most part he was correct. It seemed your comrades were more reliable when it came to your own preservation than you were, and perhaps Fritjof really would have taken the opportunity to kill you right then and there. But at the same time, you also knew he was capable of much worse than just killing you.

“I hate when you are correct about things like this,” you said finally, and you rested your cheek in his palm, growing more and more inclined to seek his touch as a comfort. “Although I do not think Fritjof would have killed me.”

“And so? He would have tortured you instead,” Loki replied, and you again had to remind yourself that his concern came from caring about you, and not because he thought you weak. 

“That would still at least give me a second shot,” you argued, and reached for your stein again. You were to sober for the conversation, and yet you could not drink because Casimir had knocked it to the floor. “But I have no intention of being tortured,” you added, after receiving a stern glare from the prince. 

“How are your current injuries?” He asked you, wanting to distract from the topic at hand.

You shrugged, your hand absentmindedly running over your torso. “I dressed and bandaged them all last night. They’re not very pretty, but I’ve had worse.”

The man rolled his eyes with a scoff, shaking his head at your response. “Knowing that worse for you is having three arrows through you, your answer does little to reassure me. Will you not just give me time to heal you properly? I think I may even be able to do it within minutes. I was able to close off Bjarke’s within an hour, and the remaining injury from the one arrow is minuscule in comparison to that task.”

You could tell that he spoke with some pride in his voice, and you never would have pinned him as a man to be prideful over his healing abilities. “If you keep healing me, people will be more suspicious, Loki.”

“Ah, have Asger and Bjarke hinted at knowing again?”

“Loki, if you are aware of their suspicions, why would you try and reaffirm them?” You asked, reaching out and pushing on his shoulder. 

He seemed to have to think about his answer for a moment, as after he quit laughing at your shove, he didn’t answer a few moments more. “It is just because I cannot see either man discussing our relationship to anyone but themselves or you. I also don’t believe that they know you are a woman.”

“Well then what about your brother?”

For that, his answer came quite quickly. “Didn’t you say he jested about you being my wingman? I hardly doubt the oaf has even an inkling of an idea about the two of us, besides him at least knowing that I care.” He paused, pulling you back to him as he spoke again. “Of course, if you are upset about him thinking of you as only a helpful friend, we could prove to him otherwise.”

“By the stars, you truly are the God of Mischief.” You sighed dramatically as you felt him grin against your neck.

“But the God of Mischief and the Goddess of Pride seem like an unmatched pair, do they not?” He asked, and you felt your own grin return to your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!! I appreciate it so much.
> 
> And this note is so short because I am in a huge rush but didn’t want to leave you guys short a chapter.


	33. XXXIII

“I don’t…” 

Bjarke looked at you briefly, and you tried to give him a comforting smile. You could see the struggle and anxiousness within his blue eyes as he stood in the middle of the room and prepared to tell the whole army about what he learned about Fritjof. Of course, speaking about Fritjof meant reliving the memories of pain and suffering that were only two days ago, but it also meant giving valuable information. It meant perhaps finding out why Fritjof started this war in the first place, and why the Allfather prevented women from fighting. 

Bjarke pressed a hand to his scarred face, grimacing briefly before letting his hand fall back down to his side. “I don’t remember all that Fritjof had said to me,” he admitted, and when you glanced around at others you could see that some were disappointed in that truth. “The pain I was feeling distracted from most of his words, but what I recall is important, and will perhaps clear up some of the rules the Allfather had set up.” He paused, glancing at Thor and Loki before continuing. Clearly, what he would say was stepping around cautiously set up boundaries.

“I’m assuming that none of you were truly told why the Allfather barred women from fighting,” he started, and you kept your face neutral to the statement, as did Loki. “Fritjof’s father was executed by the Allfather’s orders for killing three men. What he claims is that his mother was the real murderer, and she convinced her daughter to help frame the father. So his father was executed, and he was left to live with his mother and sister in abusive circumstances, until finally, he snapped, and killed them both.”

“And so he wishes to rage war over just his father?” You asked, appalled by the way one death could make a person wish death upon all of a kingdom. 

“Remind you of someone?” 

You narrowed your gaze as you heard Fiske speak up, but you set your jaw and refused to look back at him. Asger placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed, trying his best to keep your anger in check. Yes, you were willing to kill over your brother’s death, but fight all of Asgard? You did not think yourself capable of an atrocity such as that. 

Thor cleared his throat to keep whispers at bay. “So is Fritjof’s wish to kill my father?” He asked, and Bjarke shook his head.

“He believes it was Lady Frigga who convinced your father to kill his. He wishes a public execution upon her, and upon any woman who isn’t willing to give up any power they may have. To him, women are manipulative and good for nothing but sex.”

You knew those were Fritjof’s words, but even hearing it come from Bjarke’s mouth at all made you uncomfortable. It was all similar to what you had heard from Fritjof before, about how women had no place besides as slaves to men. As you swept your gaze over the soldiers around you, you wondered how many men might share similar sentiments to Fritjof. Asger and Bjarke, surely, did not, as you knew they valued Asta and Sassa with more regard than that. But perhaps, their opinions would change if they were to ever find out that you were a woman, hiding right in front of them. Your stomach coiled into knots, and briefly, you thought you were going to become sick. But you swallowed the bile back down your throat, and did your best to avoid glancing in the eyes of too many soldiers. Loki, too, did his best to avoid looking at you, not wanting to give away your discomfort with the discussion.

“So neither of you were ever told the reason for Fritjof’s anger before this battle?” The question slipped from your mouth without much thought, and you looked at both Thor and Loki with a disapproving frown. 

“It is not possible to question our father on his orders, Ove. He is a stubborn old man,” Loki answered.

“And, there was never a doubt that there was a need to stop Fritjof. The only reason to question him was on the ban of women, and to that, he refused to answer,” Thor added, and his expression gave away his conflicted thoughts. “We may have to change our plan of attack,” he said finally, and Loki silently agreed. 

“If Fritjof is after our mother, it would be wise to head back to the capital and let him come to us. We can better prepare that way, as well as assure that he cannot reach her,” the adopted prince spoke, and you worried internally about being so near to Odin’s scrutinizing gaze. “We can leave tomorrow morning. Give one more night for everyone to rest and gather their strength, but before the sun begins to rise, we must leave.”

The plan was perhaps for the best, and yet your head dropped back as you let out a quiet sigh, closing your eyes momentarily. You thought yourself, for the most part, safe around your fellow soldiers. Loki was the only one who knew you were a woman, and you knew your secret was kept safe with him, but you knew that being near Odin and Frigga would put you under the weight of their judgements. With the way you spoke out against anything you disagreed with, you would have to keep an invisible muzzle over your mouth with the two of them around. Anything you did to stand out would make them look at you a little longer, and maybe beneath the harsh scars on your body they’d see the softer curves of your face and know. 

It was Frigga you were most worried about. Loki shared his magic abilities with her, and perhaps it would be that magic that would give you away to her. And would she tell? Or would she perhaps keep her lips sealed and allow her softer sentimentalities to gain control? 

“Ove.”

It was Thor’s voice that pulled you from your thoughts, and you lifted your eyes to look at him. 

“I advise you to keep most of your opinions at bay while we are at the capital. My father does not take well to insubordination, and while I always enjoy your harsh way of speaking, he may not. And _do not_ express your wishes to kill Fritjof.”

“He may take that as a direct threat of treason,” Loki chimed in, and you listened carefully to the grimace in his voice as he spoke, out of both nervousness for you and spite for the king.

“I was already planning on cutting out my tongue before we arrive,” you quipped, and Loki rolled his eyes at your comment.

“You would still find a way to be glaringly stubborn,” he remarked dryly.

 _You love that_ , you said to him, and he glanced at you in surprise as you initiated the telepathic conversation. He was not aware that you could do that, and your eyes widened a little yourself, as you too were unaware of it until now. 

_Strange_ , was his only comment in response to you, and he laced his hands behind his back as he turned to address his brother once more.

You took that as a dismissal, and so you turned on your heels and departed from the room, leaving the two brothers to plan without interfering them. Thor’s warning left you with a twisting gut, and you quickly found solace in sharpening your mace whilst sitting near Halvor in the barn. You wanted to be away from the noise again, so that you would have ample time to think about the situation you would be in. 

It was all very dangerous to be in the capital, both for you and for the rest of the army. There was a risk that Fritjof would not even come to the capital, and there was also a risk that he would come better prepared than anyone else. You didn’t like the idea of being on the defensive, although being on the offensive has so far not worked out well. You were sure to feel like a sitting duck stationed at the capital, and even more so, an _anxious_ sitting duck, because unwanted attention would be placed upon you. 

You wondered, too, if you would be able to at all have time alone with Loki, to talk and bicker the way you did now. You fret that he would not even be able to hold you once the whole time, and why that bothered you now, you did not know. It was unlike you to crave someone’s attention, but perhaps you had always craved Loki’s in some way, and were only beginning to realize it now. Surely it was natural to anyone else to want a lover’s touch, but not to you. It was something you would have to become accustomed to, and so far, it was difficult to do so. Doing so meant giving up a small part of yourself, which is something that you loathed the idea of. Even if you were only giving away a minuscule part of your independence, it still required effort on your own part to not grow frustrated with the loss of it. 

The very thought of it all was making you irritated even now, and so you pushed the whetstone across the blades of your mace with vigor, working away your unwanted and unjust vexation. You slid the stone over the blades until your arms became sore with the effort, and sweat dropped from your forehead. You sat back against the wooden post, absentmindedly tapping on the blades to check their sharpness. When you slid your finger across the blade, you smiled thinly at the cut it left, proud that all of your hard work left you with the sharpest blade you’ve had in a long while. You used to sharpen the blades all of the time, before you even had a reason to, but with the war you didn’t often have the time to do so. It was truly a shame, as your brother would have surely never let the blades dull the way you had. 

Footsteps came from the opposite end of the stables, and you picked your head up at the noise. “Loki?” You asked, but the voice you were greeted by was not his.

“He took them, Ove.”

Your mace slid off of your knees and onto the ground, and you slowly stood up to better look at the boy in front of you. 

“Maksim?” You squinted, brows furrowed in worry as you noticed the dark bruises stamped onto his skin, and the dried blood clustered around his nose. “What happened?” You asked, taking steps towards him and kneeling down to his height. Carefully, your hands pushed his hair out of his face, and your mouth fell open as you looked at his bruises more closely. 

“He took them,” the boy said again, and both his words and the tears in his eyes made your whole body stiffen. “H-He found us, and Pirko made me h-hide so that I could find you.” His cries made his voice shake, and between words he gulped down greedy breaths. 

“Do you know where they are?” 

“A-At the village right next to Hjarta, Pirko told me,” he said, pointing to his head to indicate telepathy.

You stood then, letting go of Maksim and turning towards the stable doors in a frenzy. “I will go get the others,” you told him, but before you could rush out of the room, Maksim tightly gripped onto your shirt.

“Please no!” He cried, and your head tilted in confusion. “He’ll _know_ , he’ll kill them. If—If he sees a whole army it’s Pirko and everyone else that will die. He’ll know she told me.” His words came out in a jumbled rush, yet still you understood his worries. 

“Okay,” you breathed. “No one else, but I _must_ go and retrieve my shield, and some food for the travel back. It will only take minutes, and I promise that we will immediately travel to them.”

Hesitantly, Maksim’s fingers unclenched the fabric of your shirt, and you immediately took off back towards the inn. When you entered, however, you slowed your pace. Even though your face was twisted with worry, you still could not alert anyone else to what was going on. If you did, Pirko’s life was in danger, and same with the lives of all of the other children. You could not let them down, you could not have their blood on your hands if you chose to make a foolish choice right now. 

A heavy breath left you as you opened the door to find your room empty, relief washing over you. You would not have to worry about an excuse to give to Asger or Bjarke, because they were not around to hear it. And you could only hope that no one would question why you had your small bag of belongings tucked beneath your coat, and your shield on your shoulders. On your way back out of the inn, you slid a few apples in your bag and filled your canteen with fresh water, ignoring the strange glances you were getting from some of the soldiers. Luckily, none of them seemed to question you, and so you had your usual strange antics to thank for that. 

You found Maksim waiting near your horse, and you hastily let Halvor out of the stable. “I’ll put a rein on him as we go,” you told the boy, even though you did take a short amount of time to place a saddle on Halvor’s back. If you would be riding for hours on end, you at least wanted to grant you and Maksim the comfort of slight cushioning. 

“Here,” you said, and you carefully lifted Maksim onto the saddle first, Halvor bending down to make it easier for you. Once Maksim was comfortable, and you jumped up beside him, squeezing Halvor with your legs and letting him gallop a short way out of the stable, and out of the village. Without much prompting, your horse knew where to head, and so you carefully reached over Maksim and placed the bit in Halvor’s mouth, pulling the reins in front of you. 

“I have a few apples in case you are hungry, and fresh water in my canteen,” you told the boy, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close against you. The way he shook in your arms brought tears to your eyes, and you pressed against him more in hopes of providing him any comfort that you could. “I am so sorry, Maksim,” you whispered, and the boy returned to sobs and weeping. 

As you rode, saying nothing but small words of comfort, a foreboding feeling crept up your spine ever so slowly, and you grew more and more uncomfortable with each stride Halvor took. There was a voice in your mind that spoke to you about death, and your eyes glazed over with a fog of dread. There would be no one to assist you in battle except for Pirko, and even she could not do much against Fritjof. You would not have comrades to save you. You were completely and utterly alone in a battle that meant _everything_ to you. You wanted these children free. You wanted them safe, unharmed, and breathing. But wanting that was sure to lead you to your own death. 

“Ove?” Maksim’s quiet voice spoke, and you drew your gaze down to him. His face was contorted into a look of suffering and regret, and his chest heaved as he seemed at a loss for words. “I, I am sorry as well. He was going to kill us all,” he said finally, and you were torn from Halvor by a rope around your neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well golly gee, I wonder what’s going to happen next. I’m sorry I can’t give poor reader a break, but there’s a lot ahead for her, both good and bad.
> 
> IN OTHER NEWS, thank you SO MUCH for 500+ kudos! That’s insane. I love each and every one of you that comments, makes fanart, drops a kudo, or reads anonymously. 
> 
> You all make writing a lot more fun for me, so thank you.


	34. XXXIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: These next few chapters will probably contain mentions of sexual assault/rape. It does not actually happen, but it is referenced.

Your shield absorbed most of the fall, but your lungs still heaved as you bounced off of the ground and rolled to your stomach. 

“Fuck,” you hissed, and before you could pull yourself up the rope around your neck twisted you back onto your back, dragging you across the ground. Your fingers pried their way between your throat and the coarse rope, and you pulled to lessen the constricting pressure. Your mouth opened in a gasp, and you swallowed as much air as you could whilst you had a break from the pulling and the choking, but as soon as your fingers slid from the rope and it was again pressing against your windpipe, your vision threatened to fade. And soon, as your head knocked into rocks and tree roots, and breathing became too strenuous, it did. 

You woke again to a different type of pain, your shield gone from your back and replaced by your own bound hands. Your ankles, too, were tied together, as you found out when you tried to adjust yourself on the unfamiliar horse’s back. The taste of blood soaked your tastebuds, and you wondered if you had bit your tongue during your struggle. A groan slid from your mouth as a piercing headache became noticeable as soon as you tried to lift your head to look around you. Although the figures around you were nothing but blurs, you could make out Maksim on Halvor near you, with his mouth being covered by a muzzle. 

Instantly at the sight of it, you opened your mouth to shout at someone for treating him in that way, but found that the words took too much energy to form, and they came out as a raspy breath. The boy had now caused you pain and, perhaps, your death, but yet still you couldn’t be angry at him. It was impossible to feel even mildly irritated with him after seeing the bruises on his face and the way he was being treated now. 

You rested your forehead back on the horse’s back for but a moment, wishing you could focus on a plan without the distraction of pain. You only had but a moment of rest before you felt a hand roughly grip your hair, tugging your head up until you were able to look at the blurry face in front of you. You sneered as Fritjof’s large grin came into focus, and he rode on his horse besides the one you had been placed on. 

“Did you like that performance the kid put on?” He asked, and the only response you could muster with your strength was to spit blood and saliva at him, and mumble out a quiet ‘fuck you, bastard’. “I thought he was pretty convincing, although I _did_ tell him that his friends would all die if he didn’t get you by yourself for me. I suppose that’s a pretty great way to control children.”

He paused to look at you, and as your vision was beginning to clear, you saw the fierce scrutiny he was looking at you with. “It’s a bit disappointing that the Prince of Evil doesn’t live up to his title,” he said finally, shaking his head. He laughed a bit at the confused expression you displayed, before dropping your hair and pressing his finger against a fresh scar on your face. “He took away all the marks I left on you earlier. Did he do that to your bastard friend, too? Was he able to regenerate an eye?”

When you didn’t respond, because all that would come from your mouth would be more profanities directed towards him, Fritjof sighed dramatically, moving his hands away from your face completely now. “When we get back, I’ll just have to redo them,” he decided. “I’m sure I could make a fun game out of opening all of your scars. How many do you reckon you have? We have plenty of time.”

“No one’s going to come get me, you know,” you spoke finally, your voice sounding like someone took a grater to your throat. 

“Oh? You think I’m not aware of that? You’re _useless_ , except I’m sure you’ve kept some of the men company in bed. I didn’t want you here to barter with Thor. I just wanted to show you what’s going to happen to women like you when Frigga has her head buried in the ground. Besides, I’m pretty sure I didn’t elicit a full scream of pain from you last time.”

You never thought that words alone could make you stiffen in terror the way Fritjof’s could. Your mind raced over the information that Bjarke had relayed to the army, and silently you prayed that the worst would not happen to you. At some point during your silence, Fritjof ceased talking to you, and moved ahead of the pack, leaving you alone with the man who was directing the horse. You trained your gaze at the passing ground, knowing that if you looked up at the rider you’d only see leering eyes in your direction, and you would rather keep yourself blind to them. Unfortunately, as much as you could blind yourself, you couldn’t mute the voices and traveling words.

“It’s going to be a real fucking disappointment if the bitch proves to be boring,” you heard one man say.

“All I got to do last time was slap the woman,” another said, his voice soaked in gruff disappointment.

“—probably won’t even let us near her.”

“What’ll she bring the tally to?” 

“Not enough.” 

“You think the prince f—”

You shut your eyes. Listening anymore to the voices around you was going to drive you mad with anticipation and fear. Somehow, you managed to drift off into a different headspace, thinking about Bjarke, Asger, and Loki, and how much you’d love to be able to return to them. You wondered now, while you had the time, if they had yet to notice your absence. Even if they did notice, there was a chance of them deciding that you were just being your typical self, and that you were probably out moping somewhere. Although, maybe Loki would at least take the time to seek you out. It seemed as though he still had words he wished to share with you, to at least talk about how you could speak with him telepathic—That was it. 

You could speak to Loki telepathically. But how? You were able to do it so easily last time, but what if that was only because he was right there? You didn’t consciously put in an effort to talk to him, you just slipped right into it. But this was surely different. You were miles away from him, not right next to him. Still, it was at least worth a try.

_Loki._

How would you even know if he was able to hear you? Would he just respond?

_I need help, please. Fritjof has the children._

After a few more attempts you still received silence in return, and so, finally, you gave up for now.

_How are you able to speak this way?_

Your eyes shot open, and you lifted your head just enough to look at Maksim. He looked over at you briefly, before quickly turning his head away. He didn’t want anyone to know that you could communicate with him. 

_I don’t know_ , you said. As glad as you were that Maksim could hear you, the boy was not who you longed to hear a response from. 

_You’re too distracted. I...I don’t think you’d be able to reach him anyway though._

Reassuring. 

_I’m sorry, Maksim_ , you told him, not knowing what else to say in the moment.

 _Me too_ , was his response, and the two of you went quiet after that. 

Now conscious of Maksim being able to listen in on your calling out, you decided against trying again. Besides, if what Maksim said was true, and you didn’t doubt his knowledge of magic, you were too distracted to try again anyway. You were tired, too. Incredibly tired. You haven't even fought anyone, and yet you felt the same as you did after a long battle. You muscles were sore, your head was ringing, and your injuries were stinging. If you were tired now, you didn't know how you would ever have the energy to fight when you had to. 

Fritjof had you in a state in which you could not imagine yourself having the strength to escape. The anticipation of not knowing where you were being taken or what was going to be done with you caused your skin to crawl as well. You were most likely going to be unfamiliar with the layout of the town, and so even if you did escape, there would be no telling if you would find your way out before a barbarian found you. And what was he going to do to you? Were you likely to lose an eye the way Bjarke had? Or had Fritjof thought of other tortures to inflict upon you? The way the men around you were gazing at you made you sick, and you could only hope they would have nothing to do with what Fritjof had planned. 

You couldn't recall ever wishing someone so desperately for help as you were now. Once, you had thought yourself capable of killing Fritjof on your own. Once, you had been worried about someone interfering with that. Once, you had struck Loki and you had yelled at your comrades for helping you. Now, you longed to take all of those actions back. 

You closed your eyes again. You didn't know how you could get through it all with the little energy you had, and so you sought to try and sleep for just a little bit. You didn't think that anything would be done to you as your eyes were closed, and surely, if someone grabbed you you would startle from your rest. And so you kept your eyes closed, and you drifted in and out of unconsciousness until you felt a hand grab your hair again, and you quietly prepared yourself for the worst. 

The barbarian, who, when you opened your eyes to look, was not Fritjof, pulled you from the horse by your hair, and you were thrown roughly to the floor. You had no choice but to stay where you had been tossed, as trying to squirm away only rubbed the ropes against your ankles and wrists. Already, the skin on your wrists felt raw, and you were grateful that your boots made your ankles much less pained. 

You glanced around you, seeing burnt buildings and ash covered grounds, and you recognized the village you were in. Berkanan. The first village to be destroyed, and the only village so far that had been pillaged entirely. The whole village had been set aflame, and it was a wonder that even the infrastructure of buildings remained in tact. The fires had been so devastating that you could still smell the death in the air, and still choke on the ashes around you. But why had you been taken here? Berkanan was a ruin. There were no resources, no people, no places to escape from the rancid air, and nowhere to hide from potential attackers. 

“Welcome to my home.”

Your lips parted slightly as the simple sentence made it all come together. Of course this was the first village to be destroyed. Of course. 

A noise of protest left you as Fritjof grabbed your arms and raised you to your feet, and then lifted you over his shoulder as though you weighed nothing. His hand gripping your waist caused a violent tremor to force its way through you, and you lifted your head and tried to turn out of his grip. Your struggle stopped abruptly when you felt a cold blade against your hip, and instantly, you froze, fearing the consequences of not complying. 

Fritjof didn't speak about the knife, nor did he turn his head to look at you. His gaze was trained ahead of him, and finally, when he was satisfied with your submission, he pulled the knife from your hip and held it back at his side. Still, you didn't let your head fall to his back, and you remained tense in his grip as you glared harshly at the other men around you.

“There's much worse I could do to you than I have planned,” Fritjof spoke finally, and you looked at the side of his head as he spoke. “Although, perhaps you'd enjoy the other option more. I was thinking of harming you in ways both physical and mental, naturally, but perhaps you'd rather the other men decide what to do with you?”

Your stomach churned at what he was implying, and rather than respond verbally, you acted impulsively. As you felt a rush of anger fill you, you turned your head as far as you could and snapped down onto Fritjof’s ear with your mouth, biting as hard as you possibly could. The barbarian prince shouted in agony, trying to tear his ear from your clamped down teeth. You kicked and thrashed with your body, trying to slam your knees into his chest. In the moment you wanted nothing more than to inflict pain onto him for the words he threatened you with. 

His hand eventually found its way around your neck, and he squeezed with a force that instantly caused your eyes to well up with tears. In an effort to breathe, your teeth came unclamped from his now-bleeding ear, and he threw you back to the floor. You coughed and gasped for breath, turning to your side as you did so. Fritjof held a hand to his ear, cursing as he pulled it away and glanced at the blood. You nearly tore his whole ear off in your adrenaline fueled attack, and now, you realized, made a grave mistake. Still, as he kicked your shoulder and forced you onto your back, the wave of satisfaction you felt made you grin up at him, his blood staining your teeth. 

“Proud of yourself?” Fritjof asked you, and he leaned down, bringing his face closer to yours. 

“Yes,” was your simple response, as no more words were able to leave your mouth when his hand gripped your neck again. 

“Let me remind you then that you are currently mine. If you eat, that's my decision. If you drink, that's my decision. If you _breathe_ , that's my decision too.” His hand left your neck, but he kept his foot crushing your shoulder, and kept his face near yours. “You disobey me, and I'll make you wish you hadn't. But the moment you’re completely broken is the moment I'll kill you. So either live with whatever pain I put you through, or let yourself die early on by forgetting your pride.”

Finally, he stood, a smile back on his face as you remained silent, your grin completely gone. 

“I want to take you to my house,” he said, and it concerned you how quickly he could go back to sounding carefree, “and introduce you to your company.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as he flung you over his shoulder again. Company? Did he mean the children? Or someone else? You glanced at Maksim, and he shook his head at your silent question. The man who was riding Halvor grabbed Maksim’s face, training his eyes forward instead of allowing him to look back at you. Your throat stung when you attempted to swallow down the blood in your mouth, knowing that if you spit it out you would surely be made to regret it. 

“We’re home,” Fritjof cooed, and he cut your ankles free of the ropes and set you down on your feet, still holding onto you by your wrists. 

As you turned around to look at the decrepit building in front of you, you saw that most of the building was burnt down. Through the missing walls you could see a stone stairwell leading below the ground, and your stomach dropped as he pushed you in that direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That trigger warning will stand for the next few chapters, though it applies to all future chapters as well.  
> As always, thank you so so much for the support! To see a fic I started just for me and a friend grow into something much larger warms my heart.
> 
> And since I won't be posting again until next Wednesday, happy holidays. I wish you all a wonderful time.


	35. XXXV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is being posted later in the day than usual. I rushed to a friend's house after work last night with gelato and presents to take her mind off of a breakup, so I didn't have any time to edit until now.
> 
> Also, trigger warning again for this chapter! It will stand for the next few chapters.

The first thing you noticed about the basement was the stench. It smelled of death, and ash, and worst of all, burnt flesh. The next thing you noticed was the space. It was a large basement, with two different rooms to it. The first was the one the stairs led to, and in the back of the room was a workbench, and on it were various tools. Even when the rooms were only lit by candles, you could make out the rust and blood that stained the knives, saws, chains, and other instruments. To the side of the room was a chair, with clamps on the arms and the legs, and your face went pale at the thought of being tied down there. 

The ceiling of the basement dripped muddy water down onto the floors, forming puddles that smelled of sewage that you were forced to step through. In the back corner was a post, and tied to it was a figure that you were unable to make out. Fritjof grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes away from it as he led you into the other room. 

“I'll introduce you to her in a few moments,” he whispered to you, and you knew then that the figure had been a person, and a dead one, at that. 

The next room was slightly larger, and in it were the sorcerers and children that Fritjof had been holding captive. Separated by bars, the adults were on one side, the children on the other. You watched silently as Maksim was forced to sit with the other children, and amongst them you spot Pirko’s blonde hair, and watched as she hid her face from your view. She was ashamed to be seen in such a way, that much was shown through her timid body language. She hated to be looked at as weak, you remembered, and surely now was her weakest moment. 

Despite the crowding of people, most were completely silent. Occasionally, you could hear a cough or a whisper or a cry from a younger child, but they were immediately hushed in the presence of Fritjof. 

“Do you like it?” Fritjof asked you, and you fought an urge to curse in response. “You’ll be staying with them, although you will be in the other room. I wouldn't want you to talk with them for too long, lest you get any ideas. They’re not the company I want you to get along with.”

At that, he turned you back around, leading you back into the room that smelled most strongly of death. He walked you to the corner where the figure lay tied to the post, and he kicked the back of your knees and forced you to kneel. His hand gripped the back of your neck, and he forced your face down closer to the figure. A mixture of a gasp and a whine left you unwillingly as you were forced to focus on the decomposed face, and you fought to turn your gaze away. Anything to get rid of the sight. Anything to get rid of the _smell_. You were afraid to breathe the air in, and yet breathing in through your nose made you sick to your stomach. 

“This is my dearest sister Willow,” Fritjof said, and he let go of your head. 

A knife cut through the ropes on your wrists, and he walked to the opposite end of the room. You heard a chest open, and then close, but still you could not tear your eyes from the girl in front of you, or what remained of a girl. She looked as if she had been decaying for years, and yet still hair remained on her head. 

“Hold out your hands.”

In your moment of shock, you did as you were told, and in your hands Fritjof placed another decayed head, this one looking more deformed than the other. 

“And this is my dearest mother,” he told you, and as the smell wafted up to your nose again you felt bile rise up your throat, and you could do nothing to stop it.

The contents of your stomach emptied out onto the floor, and you heaved and choked on the scent. Despite your struggle with the scene in front of you, you could not drop the head you held, as it felt both disrespectful to the woman, and like a poor mistake to make in front of Fritjof. Already, you could hear his irritation, and he ripped his mother’s skull from your grip and set it down on the table beside you. 

“If all it takes to make you vomit is a few corpses, you’re going to hold up worse than I thought,” he remarked, and he forced you to your feet. “Do you want to know why I killed them?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, finally looking away from the bodies to turn your gaze towards him. “Because your father was executed,” you said simply, and he raised his eyebrows at the knowledge you already possessed.

“Your friend told you, I take it?” He grinned, and before you could answer again he picked up a knife, drawing a thin line down your cheek over a scar. “No, no,” he said, setting the knife back down. “Speak without permission again and it'll be worse.”

So you didn't speak, but in the back of your mind his warning echoed. When you’re submissive, he’ll kill you. So you waited until he looked satisfied with your silence, and when he turned his head to briefly look away from you, you slammed your knee into his crotch, watching as he doubled over in pain. In a last ditch effort to be able to defend yourself more, you turned around and reached for the knife he placed on the table. As your hand gripped onto the hilt, his hands gripped your hair and slammed your forehead down on the edge of the table, and you screamed out in pain. 

“Are you remembering what I told you?” He hissed, pulling your head up and pressing it down onto the table. “You don't want to be good, because I'll kill you. But _trust_ me when I tell you that you won't want to make a decision like that ever again. You’ll be wishing for your death soon enough.” 

He slammed a fist down on your wrist, and with a cry of pain the hilt of the knife slipped from your fingers. Again, he easily dragged you where he wanted you, and he sat you down in the chair you had been fearful of, clamping your wrists and ankles into place. 

“Now that you can't quite pull a move like that again, I'll tell you why this war started, and why my dearest mother and dearest sister are corpses in this basement.” He walked to the other room, and when he came back he had a chair for himself to sit on. He made himself far too comfortable sitting in front of you, and he twirled his knife between his fingers absentmindedly. 

“Growing up, my mother was a whore. She wasn't very happy with my father, and so she'd go around sleeping with other men to keep herself entertained, taking money out of their pockets in return. For _years_ , she did this, and my father stayed compliant and said nothing about it even though he knew what she was up to. And then one night, my mother found out that a man she was sleeping with had another wife, and two sons. Do you know what she did?”

You said nothing, not until he told you you were allowed to speak. You let out a frustrated huff of air, not amused by the games he was playing with you. “Killed them, I assume. Murderous intent seems to run in the family,” you said dryly, your head still spinning from the hit you took. 

“I’m only murdering people so that they can see the corruption women cause,” he growled in response, trailing his knife down a scar on your arm. 

You sat still, hardly reacting to the pressure of the blade against your skin. It wasn't bad. If you kept your breathing steady, you could deal with pain like that for days, maybe even weeks if you grew accustomed to it. It would just be a matter of having enough blood in your system to prevent yourself from dizzying, and that, you realized, would be the largest problem. Between the concussion he surely caused you, and the blood now dropping from your cheek and arm, you wondered how much your physical self could take. Mentally, you were fine. Worried and angry, yes, but not breaking down. 

“Sorry,” you said sarcastically. “Go on with the story, please.” You waved your hand to encourage him to continue, biting your tongue from saying anything more as he traced over another scar.

“You were right,” Fritjof said, sighing dramatically. “My mother killed the whole family in her rage, and plotted a whole case against my father. So when they went for their case to be heard, she pled innocent, and said that it was my ‘abusive’ father who killed the family, not her. I reckon now that she had my sister strike her against her face so that a bruise would form.”

His lip curled up in disgust as he talked about them, and occasionally, he'd glance at his mother and sister’s corpses and glowered at them, as if to taunt them for the way they ended up.

“That bitch fell for it all, too. My sister took a stand against my father, and while the Allfather was wary about it all, Frigga believed them. Frigga called for my father’s death, and Odin carried out her wish. My father was executed, and all the while my mother and sister sat with smug looks on their face as they held their hands on my arms to prevent me from acting out. And when I cried for my father’s death, they took me home and treated me like cattle. They told me that all men are murderous slobs, and my father was a good for nothing man who couldn't provide for the family. 

“They worked me, treated me as though I was worthless, and I stayed silent. I stayed a good little boy who listened to his mother and sister, and finally, I gained my mother’s doting affection back. This basement was my room, and so one night I called her down here, to ask her to help me with school work. I told her to sit down in the chair you’re in now, and I went over my school work with her for a few moments until she felt comfortable.”

His face contorted into a look of sheer joy, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“And then I told her I wanted to play a game, and I tied her to the chair before she could fight back. When she started screaming as I approached with this knife, my sister ran down to her aid. By the stars, it was easy for her to be restrained to that pole over there. Sister Dearest didn't realize how strong her younger brother had gotten over the years.” He rolled his eyes. “I let her watch as I killed our mother, and I dragged it out as much as I could.”

As important as it would have been to listen closely to all that Fritjof was saying, so that you could relay the information to the others (if you ever had the chance), you found yourself repeatedly distancing yourself from his voice. Even when his knife was constantly on your skin, you found it best to try and displace your mind elsewhere. No matter how hard you tried though, your eyes were trailing back towards the skulls in the corner of the room, and Fritjof’s voice still penetrated through you. 

“Are you even listening?” Fritjof asked, and before you were even able to turn your head back towards him, his knife was jabbed into your right arm. 

The scream that came from you brought a spark of life back into the man’s eyes, and you pulled at the restraints on your arms, trying to shy away from the blade now stuck in you. Your head fell back against the chair, fast and ragged breaths causing your chest to heave with pain. As the knife was removed from your bicep, he wiped the blood off on the cloth of your sleeve. You wanted to curse and bite and seethe, but you were capable of none of it. 

“Now keep up, girl, I want you to hear the end of my story.” He set his knife to the side, seemingly pleased with your pain. “I didn't have as much time with my mother as I do with you, so I had to rush her treatment. I took her eyes, bashed in her skull, and left it at that. And then my poor, poor sister had to be taken care of. I didn't hate her as much as my mother, and so all I did to her was set her skirts on fire. She was the first of Berkanan to burn.”

Fritjof glanced over you, eyes lingering on the blood dripping from the wounds he inflicted, and the bruises forming on your throat from his strangling. “Repeat what I told you. If you get something wrong, you’ll be punished.”

And so you did. You didn't have the strength to refuse, and so you tried to piece together as much of the story as you could, your voice shaking as you went over all of the details you could remember. “Your sister burnt first,” you said at the end, and some part of your mind screamed at you to call him a bastard. Don't let him have his way. If he does, you’ll be dead by morning. But you choked back these rebellious thoughts. Fritjof wanted to drag this out as long as he could. Even if you gave in now, he would be dissatisfied and continue to torture you. 

Fritjof’s hand reached up towards your head, and you flinched instinctively. He frowned for a moment, before grabbing you by your jaw and forcing you to look at him. The pressure with which he held your head made you wince in pain, but he did not ease up. “I think I'm done for the night, does that make you happy?” 

Again, you said nothing, not knowing how to respond. Sure, it made you relieved. But certainly not happy. Surprisingly, Fritjof said and did nothing at your insubordination. Instead, he just let go of your face, and exited the basement up the stairs. The other men followed him up, and you watched as they shut the door, leaving you and the others in complete darkness. 

It wasn't until an hour later that you spoke, hoping the sorcerers on the other side of the wall would hear you. “How can we get in contact with someone?” You asked, momentarily surprised by the hoarseness of your voice. You sounded nothing like yourself, and surely it was a consequence of the beating you have already taken. Looking down at your bleeding wrists, you expected it would only get worse, as well.

“Impossible,” was the simple response you received, and so you closed your eyes and focused on thinking about every part of Loki.

Already you missed the warmth he gave off when he healed you, and the cold resting temperature of his skin that stood in contrast to your own warmth. You missed his cool-headed jests directed towards your own hotheadedness, and the way he knew you so well. If you were ever capable of escaping, you doubted you would ever be so willing to leave his side again. Being without him, being without _anyone,_ finally made you realize how alone you felt, and how alone you tried to make yourself feel for years. This was not a way to live, or a way to spend your last days. 

_Loki, please,_ you begged in your mind, and you swore that if the words left your mouth they would break in desperation. 

“Impossible,” a voice said again, and as you opened your eyes tears slid down your cheeks. “How can she do that?”

You sat as far upright as you could in the chair, mouth opening and closing as you listened in on the conversation in the other room.

“She doesn't possess magic,” another voice said. “We’d feel it otherwise.”

“Please, if you know something, help me,” you begged them, and the voice that spoke next was familiar to you, and made you relax just a little.

“It’s because of Loki,” the girl said.

“Then it's not to be trusted,” a man’s voice spoke, and you could feel his anger even from your place apart from him. That was, undoubtedly, Nevin, the sorcerer Loki burnt when he was younger. “Nothing that man touches is trustworthy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So why is Ove able to speak telepathically? 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. We're almost to 600 kudos, and that's INSANE. I really can't believe it. There are still new people reading this fic and it makes me thrilled.


	36. XXXVI

Pirko was defending you before you even found words to speak. “She’s an exception. She wants Fritjof dead perhaps more than us, she _promised_ she would help us, and she came here without even thinking about the danger she was putting herself in. Ove is trustworthy.”

There were words still left unsaid, and you heard them die on her lips. When she was met with a bombardment of hissed out whispers, you lost track of the conversation. You couldn't hear anything but the occasional sharp word. _Don't. Worthy._ Untrustworthy? _Evil. Wreckless._

“I’m still here,” you croaked out, but the whispers didn't end. If your headache weren't preventing it, you would have let your eyes roll to the back of your head. You set your jaw, closing your eyes to concentrate again.

_I am bleeding, I am annoyed, and the sooner I can get out of this chair, the sooner we all can escape. You hear me?_

They heard, and it was made evident by their stunned silence. “Why can I do this?” You asked them aloud, feeling that now they would finally listen. “I don't possess magic, so why am I able to speak telepathically?”

“Loki, he…” Pirko trailed off. “The spell book, the one he wasn't supposed to look at, I gave it to him.” That you knew, but the others didn't, and you heard a sorceress call Pirko a fool for letting him have his hands on that book. “There’s a spell in there that allows a user to share their magic, but it takes a great deal of energy and isn't a guarantee. It must have worked though, at least a little, when he tried it with you.”

“Loki put his magic into me?” You repeated slowly, not sure how that was possible.

“It’s a process that takes a long time, so it's no wonder you only gained the capability to speak to us telepathically,” a man spoke, and you wondered silently if that was Nevin again. 

“But when did he…” The question wasn’t worth asking, because as soon as you began to phrase it, you had glimpses into when he could have done it. Everytime he healed you, every night he put you to rest with his magic and took away your nightmares. Perhaps that was why he was so insistent on you allowing him to heal you more, so that he could put more power into you. “Do you know why he would do that, without even telling me?” 

Was it just so that you would be able to contact him if you needed help? Or was it for another purpose? Either way, there was an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. He never even told you what his plans with all of this were, never even asked for your permission. How hard would it have been to just ask you if you wanted that? Why would he just assume it was acceptable for him to do so? You frowned, cursing the fact that you weren't even able to speak to him right now, despite him violating your trust. If it was worth it, you would be able to reach him.

“I know,” Pirko answered, but she didn't elaborate past that, and you felt your gut twist again.

“Then _tell me_ ,” you said, your voice edged with irritation. “He can't just do this without giving me a reason. Does it have negative consequences for me since I'm not a normal magic user?”

“Not inherent negative consequences.” She paused, seeming to contemplate telling you more. “But I cannot tell you. Telling you might put you in more danger, so it's best you remain unaware.”

“Loki does everything without permission,” another sorcerer muttered, and you sunk further into the chair.

“So there are negative consequences? Am I dying? I get the situation I'm in is going to kill me but I would at least like to know if my prince is trying to assassinate me first.” _My_ prince. The words slipped from your mouth naturally, and you hoped they would not be caught by others. 

“He's not trying to kill you, idiot. It's the opposite, but that's all I'm going to say about it, so shut up and stop asking.”

A forced grin stayed on your face for a few moments as Pirko began talking like herself again, and not like a frightened child. Of course, she was still frightened, but at least now she was back to her biting remarks. Unfortunately, you couldn't seem to keep any expression on your face for long before a grimace replaced it. Everytime you turned your head too quickly your headache reprimanded you for it, and everytime you shifted in your spot your raw wrists rubbed against cold metal. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, and heard Pirko’s quiet harrumph of victory. 

“I advise you stop talking,” Nevin said, before you could say anything more. “He does not like when people talk without him being here.”

You took that advice to heart. You would cause a ruckus when you felt you had the strength to. For now, you would bide your time in silence as you were advised to. You didn't know how to feel about the rumored Nevin. He seemed harsh, and yet you doubted he was like that to Pirko all of the time. She seemed to like her father, love him. Perhaps there was more behind his temperamental and strict exterior that he just hadn't exposed to you yet. Everyone had their walls, you supposed. 

 

It was an hour later when you felt your chin tipping down to your chest, only to be jerked back up in an attempt to keep yourself awake. You could only guess how much time had passed, as there was no way of telling without windows, and you had the drip from the ceiling to tell how many seconds passed by. About every four seconds, a drop crashed on the floor below, and the sound was proving to act as a metronome for your exhaustion. It was the lullaby that now forced your eyes to close and the jerks of your sleep deprived body to quit. 

_Die._

_You were going to die. A sword struck through your chest, ripping through you and the wooden table you had been placed on. It hurt more than three arrows had, and a force was stopping you from losing consciousness. A fog of magic fumed over your mind, unrelenting in its grasp. As you writhed in pain, wishing it would end soon, you could still feel the blade against you, every move driving it to cut into another organ._

_A cough of blood escaped your mouth, sputtering out and back onto your face. It invaded your nose, your eyes, your ears. You felt as though every part of you was bleeding, and yet still you saw it all with the clarity of someone who wasn't injured at all. Your vision wasn't blurring, your ears weren't ringing._

_You were perfectly, violently, aware._

_Just as_ he _wanted._

_The sword was pulled from your body, your back arching off of the table with it before falling back down. You gagged on blood again, sputtering more onto the table as you fought to try to find a way to breathe. Your lungs felt heavy, like they hadn't been stretched out enough throughout your life inflate fully now. God, it hurt. You couldn't breathe through the liquid, and it closed around your nostrils, rendering them useless in your fight._

_“How does it feel?”_

_Your hands gripped the edge of the table as you convulsed violently, the magic around your brain still forcing you to be coherent._

_“Does it hurt?”_

_What type of question was that? Anyone could take one glance at you and recognize the pain you were in._

_“Fuck ya,” was the most you could get out of your mouth between gasps and bubbles in your throat._

_Let it end, let it end. God, please, let it end._

_“After this, I'll take your head like I did with your brother.” The sword was raised again, this time aimed at your thigh, and you closed your eyes as tight as you could._

_“Stop! Stop!” The shouts came from your mouth in a perfectly coherent string this time._

“Stop!” Your wrists clattered against the clamps, and you screamed in agony, trying to pull yourself from the restraints as if the sword was truly going to impale you again. 

“ _Shut up_!” you heard someone hiss to you through the wall, but your mind was elsewhere and you tore a hole through your lip in your fit. 

Seeing the blood made fear bubble up inside of you again, and again you screamed, only making your delirious state worse by hurting your wrists again. You wondered how you had the supply of tears you did, because it seemed so often now you were reduced to a weeping mess. There was a time in your life in which you told Loki that you didn't fear death, and that after this battle you were probably going to die anyway. It had never bothered you. You thought it had never bothered you. Even when arrows pierced through you, you were only upset because you didn't complete your goal. But now you felt afraid, and your heart sped even more when you saw the door to the basement open.

“You’re making an awful amount of noise, Ove,” Fritjof said, walking down the steps towards you. Each time he took a step closer your tried to clear your eyes of tears, and tried to swallow down your nerves. “It feels odd to call you that, you know. I killed Ove, but you’re still alive. Do you think I could get your name out of you? So that I can tattoo it after all of this?”

“No,” you said simply, shaking your head. Even in the dark, you could tell that he was holding something, and your breath hitched when you realized what it was. That was your bag. That was _your stuff._ Your most prized possessions that kept you sane. What was he going to do with it? “I'm not telling you my name.”

“Well, will any of this tell me your name?” He shook your bag, and your breathing stopped as his hands pulled the small bag open. 

The first thing he pulled out was your brother’s favorite book. It contained tales of courage, but along with it some poetry. “Head’s Ransom” was a classic and a favorite of your brother, and the pages that contained the poem were so soft from handling that it was basically unreadable. You didn't need to read it, though. You already had it memorized from years of repeated reading. Fritjof flipped through the pages, flicking small bookmarks from them carelessly. Bookmarked were your favorite parts. Parts that reminded you most of your brother. From how much you read, you would be able to flip to those pages with no problem, but you had a feeling you would never be able to do so again.

“It's a lot of useless weight to carry around an old poetry book,” Fritjof chastised, and with a sickening rip, pages from the book fell to the ground.

You couldn't find your voice as you watched the pages soak up dirty water. Eventually, as he grew bored with ripping pages, he dropped the whole thing face down, stomping it into the wet stone. You tried not to let him see a reaction from you, but small murmurs and whines came out on instinct, and he smirked at the reaction. The next thing he pulled from your bag was the turquoise necklace you purchased for your mom, and silently, you thought that at least it wasn't more valuable. 

“You don't seem like the type of woman to fancy wearing jewelry.”

“It's not—” You don't know why you tried to explain it. It wouldn't save the metal from any of his harsh treatments.

“It's not yours? Then who's?”

You knew you had to answer. “For my mother,” you said mechanically, a dull expression on your face as he broke the chain and let that litter to the floor as well.

The next thing he pulled out was the fabric from your brother’s shirt, and he looked baffled by the need to hold onto something so insignificant. To him, at least. It was very significant to you, and it was why you felt panic rise up in you as he held it in his hands like it didn't matter. He watched as you sat up straighter in your spot, your breaths becoming quicker. You didn't know what you would do without that part of your brother. It calmed you, it soothed you in times of need when you had no one else to turn you. He couldn't ruin it. He _couldn't._

“Was this Ove’s?” He asked, pulling the fabric as far as it would stretch. 

“Stop,” you whispered, and you cursed yourself for the reaction. 

“It was,” Fritjof decided happily, and he reached for a pair of scissors. He sat himself back down in the chair beside you, and slowly, he snipped the fabric into small pieces. He looked up with each cut, and your mind was sent into a frenzy. 

“Don't do that, don't do that, don't do—” There was nothing you could do to prevent the words from leaving you. They were just as unstoppable as your screams in your nightmare. You repeated yourself again, and again, until Fritjof had no more fabric left to cut.

“Hold out your hand.”

You did, because some part of you was hoping he would place a sewn together piece of cloth in it, as if the cuts had never happened. But no, that was impossible, and instead he placed the tiniest snip of fabric. You closed your fist around it instantly, afraid that if you lingered he would take it from you and send that, too, to the ground. He made no move to take it from you, smiling as though he had given you a gracious gift. Again, he reached into the bag, and this time a yellow cowslip was pulled out. It's petals were dry and wrinkled, and the color was dull. Not nearly as vibrant as it was the day it had first bloomed.

“Not from your brother,” the man decided, and your eyes showed the truth. “Each time I look at you I grow more and more disappointed with the God of Evil.” He said the title mockingly, as he spun the flower in his hands the same way you did that day in the field. “He saves you from death, he argues with you when you put yourself in danger, and he gives you a flower?” A field of flowers, you wanted to say. “That's pathetic.”

You expected the same amount of cruelty as you had received before, but instead, he tucked the flower behind your ear. You froze from the gesture, confused as to why he had done it with such gentleness. It was when he pulled away and spoke again that you realized how dark his intentions truly were.

“I just thought it would be a nice sentiment for the prince. When he finds your corpse, he’ll see that you held onto a flower from him.”

“He’ll gauge your eyes out if I don't get to do it first,” you hissed finally, tears in your eyes as the remaining parts of a normal life were breaking in front of you. 

Fritjof laughed at that. A big bellied laugh that echoed through the basement and made your hair flit in the company of his breaths. His laughter unsettled you. The way he grinned and joked so casually about death and destruction was far less favorable than when you had him seething with anger. The man was most dangerous when he was happy. 

“That was a mistake,” he told you, and he pulled out the final item.

You bit your lip again, adding more blood to your mouth. The letter. He couldn't open the letter. You had never opened that goddamn letter and you would not have him open it with his filthy, undeserving fingers. Not while you were alive. Not while he was alive. When Fritjof was dead, the letter could be read. You would have it no other way. While looking at the letter, courage and rage bubbled up inside of you again. Where that strength came from, you didn't know. You were seeing red and you wanted that letter out of his reach. 

“Torture me,” you told him, setting your jaw with a click. He paused his movements, raising his eyebrows at your proposition. “Do anything. Put me through the most miserable pain you can think of. _Don't open that fucking letter_.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at you. He wanted to see you break under his gaze, but you narrowed your eyes back, forcing your limbs to stop shaking. 

“That is the most idiotic request I've ever received from someone chained to a chair,” Fritjof noted, but he set the letter back down in your bag. “If you once beg me to stop, or try to flinch away, I'm reading that letter. I'm burning it when I'm finished. But that letter will remain untouched so long as you don't break your resolve.”

Idiot. God, you were a right idiot. 

“Bring it,” you breathed, and you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, preparing for the worst. Somehow, _somehow_ , you would find a way out of this. “Maybe I'll even tell you my name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry again. But the chapters won't get any easier for a while. Fluff will probably be due, but there's still more pain until then. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos on this story! I love you all very much and appreciate everything you all do to support this story.


	37. XXXVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like 3,800 words because there was no way to cut it off shorter than that. It's a doozy. You'll see why when you read it.

Somewhere along the line, you lost track of the time, and the amount of times you had been punched, or kicked, or cut. You had stopped counting at a hundred, and you had stopped responding at all at some point. You were lying on the floor now, your breathing shallow. It wasn't like your dream, but part of you wished it was. In your nightmare, you were aware. You could hear Fritjof taunting you, and could see his movements clear as day. Now you weren't granted that privilege. He was talking to you, but you only heard bits of his speech. 

“—quite boring.”

“—could kill you now.”

“Or heal you so that—”

Heal you? It was after Fritjof walked to the other room and came back with a sorcerer that you realized what he meant. Heal you, so that you can go through the pain all over again. What a cruel, cruel thing, and something you should have expected from him. 

“—suffocate her—heal her? If not—kill—”

A hand grabbed your shoulders, and you gasped as his fingers dug into freshly formed bruises and cuts. He reminded you of your deal then. You could not flinch, or break. If you did, he would open your brother’s letter. It was doubtful he even cared to read it anymore. Even if you did flinch, you wouldn't be coherent enough to listen to him read it. You doubted you’d even hear him tear it open. 

At some point, you had dropped the piece of your brother’s shirt. It was earlier on, and you were never given a chance to pick it up again. You had cried out, both in pain from a cut and in emotional turmoil. You just wanted that cloth; that small cloth that could comfort you even when you felt like the world was closing around you. You wished you had it now, as you were pushed against the wall and an untiring hand wrapped around your throat. He could crush it. He could probably snap your neck in two considering the condition you were in. 

There were bruises on your neck from the first time he had choked you, and his fingers fell into alignment perfectly with them. It didn't take much strength at all for you to start writhing in your position, kicking at the wall and at his legs as though you would be able to suck breath into your lungs because of it. Tears dropped down your cheeks, and as he held onto your throat for a few seconds more, you realized he wasn't planning on stopping. He would kill you, unless the sorcerer he brought into the room could bring you back. 

_Help me, please, help me. I really don't want to die. I know I'm a complete idiot, I'm sorry._

It was a last ditch attempt. Loki had not been able to hear you before and he would not be able to hear you now. You were fading far too fast to have enough strength to call out to him now. Fritjof’s hand squeezed tighter, and your last bit of strength left.

_I love you, Loki. I'm so sorry._

Your body went limp, you crumpled to the ground, and in minutes, air reached your lungs again. Your windpipe was opened back up, your lungs inflated, and the moment you came back to consciousness you were fighting again. Frightened by the hands that were resting against your neck, you pushed yourself away, arms and legs using all of the strength that you had left. Blinking, your vision came back, and your head pounded as you tried to comprehend what was going on. 

“Was I dead?” You croaked out finally, feeling like you were going to vomit. Your fingers gently ran over the bruises on your neck, and with each minute more you shrank into yourself, the pain making you want to retreat back into unconsciousness. 

“He's not a necromancer,” Fritjof said, and there was a hint of anger in his voice. 

As your eyes tried to focus on the sorcerer who saved you, your brows furrowed. Nevin. You had a clear view of him now, and frowned at the gruesome burn that spread across his face. His hands had felt scratchy when they were laid across your skin, and you saw now that it was because they, too, were burnt. You nodded your head as a silent thank you, hardly able to hide your surprise. You never would have guessed that he would try and save your life, even if Fritjof had kind of forced him into doing it. 

“But you might as well be.”

What? You squinted at Fritjof, not understanding what he was saying. He picked you up off of the floor and sat you back down in the chair you hated, but he didn't lock your wrists or ankles in. His mannerisms were different. His eyes were looking over you in a wild manner that made you more sick to your stomach. His hands were shaking, and he was mumbling to himself. 

After a few moments more, your silent question came out verbally, albeit weakly: “What?”

You shouldn't have said it out loud. His hand wrapped around your throat again, not squeezing nearly as tight. It hurt enough to make you wince in pain, but he wasn't restricting your airflow. Why? Your eyes trailed up to his, but his eyes didn't once leave the flower still tucked in your hair. He was thinking. Calculating. Even while his breathing was heavy and his anger was radiating off of him, he kept his eyes steady on the cowslip. 

After only a few seconds more, you couldn't look him in the eye for any longer. There was an unsettling feeling in the air that was making your skin crawl with anticipation. His hands stayed pressed against your neck, in just the right spot to truly end your life if he wanted to. But he didn't. A minute passed and he pulled away from you. Previously, you would have fought him. You would have leapt at this opportunity and taken this as a moment of weakness. But not now. Now you were hurt and shaking and your breathing was shallow, and now you knew that he looked most dangerous in this very moment. 

Besides, your legs couldn't work even if they wanted to. Fritjof pulled you to your feet and it was only his arms that prevented you from collapsing. It was him that dragged you up the stairs and to the outside, and it was him that let you drop to your knees by the entrance of the house. He gave you an experimental kick, and easily, you fell fully to the ground. You rested your forehead against the ash, and in intermittent breaths you choked on the debris and death. How many times you tried calling out to Loki then, you don't know. You just kept repeating his name, repeating ‘help’, and all the while Fritjof didn't touch you. He just _watched_. And that was most concerning. 

_I know where you are, and we will be there shortly._

Your eyes snapped open at the voice inside your head. The voice. _His_ voice. In a sudden burst of emotion, sobs wracked through your injured body, and you cried into the ash. There was no way to control your crying, and no way to push yourself off of the ground either. Tears mixed with blood and with dirt and dust and rubbed into your cuts, stinging as your legs and arms tried to help roll you into your side, or your back. It was hard to see with eyelashes clumped together by debris, but you could still see Fritjof. He was still watching, his eyes were still locked onto the cowslip, and if your vision were better you swore you could see his hands shake and twitch again. 

“Is he talking to you, you _bitch_?” He hissed, but still made no move to come near you. “Did you tell him that we’re having a grand old time at my home, and that I was going to keep your head for him? Did you tell him that I have the sons and daughters of the witches, and that I'm torturing them, too?” He paused, tapping his foot incessantly. “Why don't you relay a message to him for me. Tell him that when he gets here, he has nothing to worry about. You’ll still be alive, regrettably so, and I'll go with the rest of the army to be put on trial in the capital. Tell him that, and only that. This next part is to be a secret between you and me, and we’ve spent _so much_ time together that you should know what happens if you tell.”

Yes. You knew. You knew that if you disobeyed him in any way you would be cut, or bruised, or burnt. Your hair would be pulled and your neck would be strangled. You knew too well, and so, you nodded. Perhaps you would keep the secret, perhaps you wouldn't. You didn't know if you would even survive to be able to tell it.

“I know you can't kill me,” he said, and you frowned. “It's against the rules of the almighty Allfather. If you, or anything of them, were allowed to kill me, your lover wouldn't have pulled you away when you were so close. How did that feel, by the way? To have your goal torn apart by someone who claims to care about you. If he cared, don't you think he would have helped you? He possesses magic, there are easy ways of killing me with that, and making you seem as though you didn't play a part.” 

He gave a sigh, finally bending down to your level and pulling your face from the dirt. His grin was manic, his eyes sparking back to life. 

“But that's not what the secret is, of course. I just want one surprise for the princes and their army, and I think it will be grand to reveal your identity to them now, and let them decide if you’re even worth saving after all. Perhaps if I show them that you’re nothing but a whore, all of your comrades will come to their senses. Just a little bit.” He said his last words with a grimace, knowing fully well that none of the men in the Asgardian army would think of women with the same amount of disgust as he did. “Then, I suppose the next part of the secret is that if they still decide you are worth keeping alive, I'll kill one of the children.”

“You wouldn't,” you breathed, narrowing your eyes and blinking away dust. “They wouldn't want me alive. Majority rules...I'm a traitor.” 

“You also said they wouldn't come for you, and they are,” he stated, dropping your head back to the floor and standing. 

He walked over to the steps of the basement, glancing down and tilting his head. This time, your gaze was able to follow him. You forced your body to turn positions out of desperation, not wanting a single child in that room to be hurt anymore. If any of them died, their death was on you. You were ruthless, not even blinking when you killed enemies, but the death of an innocent child would make your world crumble. 

“What kid should I kill? The boy who lured you here? Or the oldest, the girl who holds more power than she lets on to? Your choice.”

“I'm–I'm not a _monster_ ” was your response. You swore you weren't to your parents when they called you one. You weren't a monster. _Monsters slew children, and you only sought to slay a cowardly man._

“You might as well be,” Fritjof told you, walking back towards you with a confidence in his stride. There was not an ounce of fear in the man as he walked. He knew he couldn't be killed, and so the gods had granted him a favor and allowed his pride to show through again. “Your selfishness is what's going to kill a child. If you stayed in your place they would never be in this situation. And if you had just been well behaved and died earlier on, this surprise wouldn't have even been thought of. When they die, it’ll be on your conscious, and I don't think your brain can handle anymore guilt, after your crying killed your brother.” He laughed, pinching your cheek all too harshly. “I'll give you until their decision to make your own. The girl or the boy. If you don't decide, it’ll be _both_.”

 

It could have been the cold, or the shock, or your injuries, or your exhaustion, but you blacked out, and didn't wake again until the shivering became more violent, and the sounds of hooves could be heard. As you squinted to see the approaching army, it was impossible to see much further than a few feet in front of you. Your wild eyes couldn't make out Casimir or Loki, but you knew he would be there. You only dreaded the confrontation, and Fritjof would not let you avoid it. He pulled you up from the ground and leaned you against him to keep you standing, and your cheeks burned in shame at the gesture. You couldn't stand for yourself. He had to hold you up. You had to rely on _him_ for assistance. 

“Put him _down_!” It was Loki that growled out the command, and Fritjof laughed quietly into your ear as the prince leapt down from his horse.

Thor, too, did the same, and neither of them let even a second pass before killing the barbarians around them. It was hardly a fight, however. For the barbarians, it was either die now on the battlefield, or die in prison or by execution. Fritjof intended on being captured, but not everyone agreed with that idea. Fritjof watched with a chuckle in the back of his throat, grabbing your cheeks and forcing you to follow the movements of your comrades. 

“If I put him down, he’ll just drop to the floor like a dead animal.” 

At those words, most of the fighting died down. The remaining barbarians weren't fighting back, and you were the main concern for most. In the crowd, fighting their way to the front you could see Bjarke and Asger. Dully, you heard them call your name, call to ask if you were alright, but all you could focus on was the increasing rate of Fritjof’s breathing. His chest was moving in a way that showed signs of panic, and yet his hands now were as still as ever. Was it panic? Or excitement? 

“Step any closer and I'll drive a knife in poor Ove’s throat,” Fritjof warned, watching as Loki retreated a step. “I made a promise to Ove here. I said that I would willingly come with you back to the capital to be put on trial, but only after I deal with something that's been bothering me. Darling Ove here has been keeping a secret.” 

At the nickname he let you drop for just a moment, before picking you back up before you could hit the ground. He was taunting; calling you a term of endearment just as he did for his mother and sister, showing them all how weak you were now. He weak he made you. Your eyes flit back to Loki for just a moment, and you saw that he knew what was about to happen. His hands stayed gripped around his knife, and slowly, you shook your head. There was nothing for him to do. Nothing for you to do. You looked out to your comrades and swallowed down your shame as you felt Fritjof’s knife at the front of your shirt. 

With just a quick motion, your shirt was cut, and it hung open to reveal bloodied bandages wrapped around your chest and waist. His knife tapped against the bandages covering your chest, and that was when you truly grimaced, not wanting to be exposed in such a way to the men who had trusted you with their lives. But Fritjof never cut the bandages, just let them show for everyone to see. Perhaps that was worse. In this way you were still hiding, and the way you had tried to deceive them all was out in the open. It was Loki’s face you tried to read first, but his was all full of understanding and sympathy and _anger_. Pure, unhinged anger. You saw Thor next, and looked at him through teary eyes as he assessed what emotion would be best shown. Eventually, he smiled thinly at you, but you could see a grimace forming. 

Asger and Bjarke were the ones you had always been most worried about. They wanted you to trust them fully, and now they could see that you never truly did. But the looks on their faces were full of shock, and Bjarke shook his head, and Asger scratched his scruff, and finally, they both glanced at each other. An unheard conversation took place between the two for mere seconds before they glanced at you, and simply nodded. And in those nods you saw their understanding, and saw how they felt they finally solved the puzzle that you were. But as tears first came down from relief, they quickly turned to fear. There were faces of resentment turning up in the army, but none were loud or important enough to stop a decision from being made. 

“She's been nothing but a bitch all this time,” Fritjof announced, laughing a little, as he was the only one who knew the reason for your tears. “She manipulated all of you, including you, _God of Mischief_. How many times did she fuck you to get you to keep her secret, or to give her a cowslip for her to hold onto?”

He turned your head then, tapping your ear to direct their view to the flower still tucked behind it. Loki’s facial features softened, touched by the fact you would keep such a small sentiment, but it didn't take long for his eyes to narrow again in Fritjof’s direction. 

_Don't save me, Loki_ , you told him, keeping your head where Fritjof directed you so that he wouldn't know you were speaking to him. _Let me die, please._

“She was so full of life when she came here, and then I let my men have a go at her and she dampened down a little bit.” Fritjof bit his lip, watching as anger rose up in your comrades again. “Kidding,” he told them, frowning a bit as he looked down at you. “I much preferred the idea of letting my knife ruin her pride instead.”

“If you intend on coming back with us in one piece, then let her be, Fritjof,” Thor boomed, and you frowned. 

There was a shift of motion behind you, near the stairs. You could hear the voices of the two children you cared about most. You could hear them struggling, and again, you pleaded with Loki to make the decision to let you die, but he wasn't listening. He didn't understand the request you were making, and he didn't have to voice that for you to understand. Thor, Bjarke, and Asger also would never understand it, not unless you told them the full secret, and surely if you did, Fritjof would catch on. 

“I'll give you a choice, since I'm reasonable. Ove is to be executed for treason anyway, is she not? Let me execute her here, give her a deserving death, and then I'll walk off with you all to the capital. Or you can let her be executed by the court, and suffer.”

Suffer. You would surely suffer if the latter was their decision, and you could tell it would be, no matter how hard you pleaded with Loki. 

“The court can decide what is to be done with her.” And those simple words from Thor made you shake your head fervently, until Fritjof grabbed your head and forced it to stay still. 

“The boy or the girl?” He whispered, and you pursed your lips. What was worse? Having a say in who died or letting them both die? “3...2...1.”

And you had not responded. 

“Both, then.” Fritjof unceremoniously dropped you to the ground, and took three steps back towards the stairs, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he did so. 

“No, no,” you said, and you looked up at Loki, Asger, and Bjarke as they rushed to help you up. “Take your decision _back! Take it back_!” You screamed at them, squirming in their grip as your gaze stayed locked on Fritjof. 

He had opened the door to the basement, and out of it, Pirko and Maksim came, being lead by guards with knives up to their throats. 

“Let me _die_!” You roared again, scratching and screaming to get up. 

“You’ll open your wounds, Ove,” Loki said, his voice hushed as he tried to calm you down. He knew something was wrong, and when his gaze finally left you and looked up to the children, he stiffened. His fingers weakly fell from your arms, leaving Bjarke and Asger to hold you. “Fritjof, you will gain _nothing_ from killing either of those children.”

“I'll gain satisfaction, won't I?” He asked, closing one eye and aiming his knife at Maksim’s head as a barbarian held it in place. 

Both you and Pirko went wide eyed, panic bubbling up inside of you both. She turned her head to look at Maksim, only to catch sight of his tears. You pushed out of your comrades’ grip, forcing yourself onto your feet. Fritjof brought his arm back, his fingers loose around the tip of the handle. Pirko turned her attention to him, struggling and kicking at the barbarian holding her down. 

Maksim cried louder.

Loki’s own dagger left his hand.

Fritjof’s knife flew towards its young target.

Your legs gave out, knees bashing against the ground.

Then it went quiet. Cries couldn't be heard, scuffles couldn't be heard, breaths were silent. And as your body refused to let you pick yourself up again, it became apparent that it was only quiet because of screaming. You were screaming, cursing to try and move, but you were not the loudest in your screams, and as you forced yourself to look near Fritjof, you saw Pirko, her yells full of agony, and her hands and eyes lit up brighter than you had ever seen them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really mean to leave this on such a cliffhanger, but I also didn't mean for this chapter to become so long. 
> 
> I hate the beginning of this chapter, too, but I just needed to drop a little hint there and if you catch it, you'll be a lot more curious about the effects of Loki's magic on Ove. 
> 
> SINCERELY, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART, thank you for reading, leaving kudos, commenting, and drawing fanart. I love you all, even if I also love torturing you with angst.


	38. XXXVIII

Blood was trickling down from your ears, and when you looked at Bjarke and Asger, their ears were dripping blood as well. Everyone was experiencing the same agony, driven on by Pirko’s piercing screams. Even Loki’s ears were dripping with blood, though not nearly as much as those more affected by magic. Never had you heard a scream so loud, and it didn't seem to be ending. It blocked you from hearing anything else, and so you relied on your failing vision to look again. Fritjof was on his knees, his hands clutching his ears as blood spurt from them. He cried out in agony, pressing his palms against his eardrums to block out the screams that were bursting them. It was him that was in the most pain, and he was struggling to even move. Pirko’s magic was disabling any ounce of strength he had in him, and she didn't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. 

“Get Maksim!” You shouted, but Bjarke looked at you and shook his head. He had no idea what you were saying, unable to hear the words leaving your mouth in raw screams. 

_Loki, Maksim_ , you tried, desperate for someone to check on the boy. 

Loki was near you again in an instant at your plead, helping lift you off the ground. _I have to restrain Fritjof. Do you have strength left?_

When you nodded, and looked into his eyes briefly, you saw the worried gloss to them. You gave him a firm nod once more, and he carefully left you standing. Pirko’s magic had left both Fritjof’s dagger and Maksim entirely frozen, as if time did not exist. For now, Maksim was protected, but as soon as Pirko’s magic gave in, you feared the dagger would strike with just as much force as originally. Not having time to watch Loki and Thor restrain Fritjof, and hold back their anger, you ran again, rushing towards the fragile boy. Your hands desperately clasped the hilt of the dagger, and as soon as you came in contact it unfroze, and you threw it down to the ground in a fury. 

Your face turned back to Maksim, who still stood paralyzed from fear. His eyes traced over your face, and his lip trembled as he listened to Pirko scream. 

“Go with them!” You put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him in the direction of trusted comrades. _I'll get Pirko_ , you told him, leaving a soft kiss on his forehead before slowly walking towards Pirko. You were afraid of her, that much was apparent by the hesitant look on your face. But she needed help just as much as Maksim, and so you shielded your eyes from the glow of her own. 

“Pirko,” you shouted, and she did not move, her fists still raised and her eyes still wild. _Pirko!_ You tried again, still unsure of how telepathy worked. She seemed to stop, for just a moment. _Pirko, Maksim is fine._ You _are fine. Please, stop._

Again, she faltered, her screams breaking off for a short second before they began again. You reached your arms out towards her, grabbing her by the shirt and pulling her close, ignoring the burns left by her hands. You had been through worse in the past few days. This you could deal with. A little longer, and that was all. Pressing her closer to you, the glowing dimmed. Your legs fell out from underneath you, and you brought her onto your stomach as you dropped. Your arms tightened around her, your legs wrapping around hers to cradle her fully. 

“Please, Pirko, you are safe now, I _promise_ ,” you whispered, and her screams hiccuped again, and then died down entirely. As her magic stopped looming around her, a sobbing girl was left in your arms, her tears soaking through your bandages as her fists clenched the remaining fabric of your shirt. “I'm sorry, Pirk. You’re safe. You did so well.” 

You whispered more words of encouragement in her ears, until her sobbing died down entirely. Her body still shook, but as you pulled your head from her neck you saw that her eyes were clenched, and her breathing was fast. Seeing her in such a state tugged at your core. You had never seen the girl so fearful, as she was never able to admit her weaknesses, and here she was now, trembling in your arms. She again reminded you of your own screaming when you had lost your brother, and it pained you to come to that comparison, because the torture of those memories was not something you would wish on anyone but Fritjof. The back of your head dropped against the floor, and you ran your fingers through her knotted hair, waiting for the inevitable. She would be taken from your arms, you would be lifted off your feet, called a warg by those who despised you and your secrets, and taken for trial in the capital where you would be executed. 

Only she wasn't pulled from your arms, not right away, anyway. When Fritjof was thoroughly tied up and on a horse, Loki came running back to you, kneeling beside you and tapping your cheek gently to test your awareness. You dimly felt it, and you turned your head towards him and smiled just barely, recognizing that your breathing was shallow and your body had given out entirely, your arms and legs at your sides, no longer able to grasp Pirko. 

“You are foolish,” he whispered to you, and you spot tears in his eyes. 

“And too prideful, I know,” you whispered back. “A letter, downstairs. All I have.”

His eyes went to the stairs, he nodded, and you knew you could trust him to retrieve it for you. “You have more than that letter, Ove. You have her,” he tilted his head towards Pirko, “you have Maksim, Bjarke and Asger, Halvor, and you also undoubtably have all of me.”

“But what if—” The moment you were given a stern look, you shut up. What if you _didn't_ have Bjarke and Asger? What if you wouldn't have any of them anymore? 

“We’re getting everyone together. You will ride Casimir with me, as we have two extra loads to bring with us back to the capital. I'll be sure Pirko and Maksim ride Halvor. The horse probably wouldn't want anyone else riding him anyway,” he changed the subject, pushing your hair out of your face. He carefully fixed the cowslip behind your ear, his fingers lingering on it momentarily. “Have Bjarke and Asger help you onto Casimir. I'll go retrieve your letter.”

He stood, turning to wave Asger and Bjarke over. They came over willingly, Bjarke leaning down to talk to you closer to your ears. “Can we move the girl?” He asked, clearly unsure if it was safe to touch her. You nodded slowly, eyes following Bjarke’s every movement as he gently lifted Pirko from your form. She didn't stir in his arms, her sleeping body huddled against Bjarke’s touch. You smiled a little at the sight, wanting Pirko to be as comforted as possible.

“Her father,” you started, twisting yourself around to look at the basement. “The one with the burn.”

Bjarke nodded, glancing at Asger before he left to find Pirko’s father in the aftermath. You turned back to Asger then, trying to push yourself up on your own. His hands came to hold you under your arms, but he was hesitant in his touch and it wasn't because of your injuries. You cringed at his timid hands, afraid to look him in the eye. He tried to lift your arm around his neck, but as you cried out in pain he flinched and nearly dropped you back to the floor. He recovered quickly, muttering his apologies to you before he fully lifted you off your feet and into his arms.

“Asger, I'm sorry.” He glanced down at you for only a second before lifting his head back up towards his destination. “I was afraid.”

“I know,” he responded finally, brows pressed together as he contemplated his next response. “I had my ideas, but now that they are right I just...need a moment. But I treated you as a brother, Ove, so I can treat you as a sister, too, as soon as I wrap my head around it all.”

“And Bjarke?” 

“Is that a question that needs to be asked?” Asger shook his head, glancing back at the house to see that Bjarke was holding onto your shield and mace. “He loves you, Ove. You saved him. He was just as distressed about you as you were about him. You being a woman won't change that for him at all. But let us both adjust.” You opted to not respond, you could talk to them more about it when there was time to. “Can you sit upright, do you think? Or would it be better to wait for Loki?”

“Loki,” was your immediate response, knowing you would probably fall straight off the horse. You quickly apologized, knowing that Asger had to hold you a little while longer until the prince could come back to his horse. Loki, as soon as he saw you being held by Asger, walked with long strides to the two of you.

He mounted Casimir, then held out his arms. Asger passed you over to him, and you couldn't help but feel completely useless. You were sat directly facing Loki, and he propped up a small bag behind your back to help your balance. As Asger left the two of you to travel back to his own horse, you silently looked over Loki, tears falling down your face.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” you said finally, your voice destroyed from the past days’ screaming. 

“I'm sorry,” was his instinctual reply, and your brows furrowed in confusion. “I should have known where to look, and should have persuaded the others to leave sooner. Then you wouldn't be in this condition.” His voice broke a little, and you wondered then how the past days had treated him. To be told by other soldiers that you had disappeared, and to have no idea where you had went had surely tortured him as well.

“I should have said something. But Maksim—” You shook your head. “Terrified. I was terrified,” you admitted, hands nervously tracing his leather armor. 

Rather than respond, Loki took off his jacket and slung it around you. He slid your arms through the sleeves and pulled the front closed, not liking how others were eyeing your bandages with poorly hidden glares. Your body appreciated the warmth of the jacket, as it was now shielded from the wind chill that had you shivering. It still burned and ached all over, but at least now your muscles wouldn't contract as much. Taking an opportunity to look around, you nervously cast your gaze out amongst the army, sometimes receiving rude gestures that you tried to shrug off. You would not be phased. You would not let that happen. If Loki, Bjarke, and Asger could look at you the same, you would not be phased by the opinions of those who were irrelevant. 

You inhaled sharply as you felt and saw the dangerous gaze you were receiving from Fritjof, but as soon as you looked over his form, you grinned at him, and even you were taken aback by the sudden burst of predator-like joy. Blood was smeared against his neck from his ears, and his arms were tightly restrained behind his back. Even his legs were tied down to the stirrups of the horse to ensure he wouldn't be able to attack. He looked between you and Loki, a sneer on his face, before mouthing a word to you.

_Necromancer._

Instinctually, your hands found the hilt of the dagger placed in Loki’s belt, but he quickly stopped you from grabbing it. 

“He has no power over you right now, Ove,” Loki reminded you, carefully holding your hands in his so that you couldn't gravitate back towards the dagger. “And if you attempt to kill him now you will be treated as a criminal, nor would you be able to throw the dagger far enough in your current condition.”

At the word ‘condition’ you felt his magic crawl up your arms, beginning to heal the smallest of cuts. It was normally a welcome sensation, but at Fritjof’s word and Pirko’s hesitation, you wondered what else he was doing to you now. You must have been obvious in your torn reaction, because Loki’s brows furrowed and he brushed his thumb over your cheek.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, pausing for but a moment before continuing: “Or rather, is something _else_ bothering you? Besides this current situation?”

You shook your head, silencing his questions with a chaste kiss. “It's nothing,” you lied, and you knew he didn't believe you, because he gave you a knowing look. You sighed, leaning forward and resting your head against his chest. You wanted to shield yourself from the gazes of others. You didn't want their attention to bother you, but it did, and Loki wrapped his arms gently around you to further protect you from them.

“I love you,” you whispered, and for good measure you whispered it twice more, closing your eyes as you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I don't mean to interrupt,” a voice started, and you jolted away from Loki painfully, a blush rising up onto your cheeks as you looked at Thor. It was odd, and fairly embarrassing, to be seen showing affection in this sort of way in front of anyone. You were able to ignore it before, but Thor’s words made you realize just how awkward it was. Not even an hour ago, these men still believed you were a man. 

“We’ll be avoiding villages on the way back. It seems safer for others if we restrain Fritjof and his men near us while we camp. We will be riding for as long as possible during the day, however.” For a moment, as his eyes fell over you again, his grimace returned. “The sooner we can get you to the capital, the better.” Your deep-set frown made him elaborate. “To get you help, Ove. Not to put you on trial for treason. If I had it my way, you wouldn't be put on trial at all. You are just as capable a warrior as anyone else here.”

“Thank y—”

“But when we camp, stay close to Loki. Most of the men here I trust with my life, but some I do not. It will also be safer if, for whatever reason, Fritjof escapes from his restraints. He has a target on you.”

Again, you frowned. His words were not in anyway intended to be a taunt, and yet you felt like you were being pinpointed as weak. You pursed your lips to prevent you from arguing with him, knowing that you were probably on thin ice already. 

“And, if you are feeling up to it, if there are any details about Fritjof you learned, discussing it with us would be helpful. I understand though that it may be hard to do so,” Thor added, and the way he spoke reminded you that he had always treated you this way. Carefully wording all of his questions to ensure that you would not be angry with him. He had done the same when he informed that the Allfather would not allow Fritjof to be killed. 

“I'll speak as much as I can on the matter.” 

And you would, but even as you swore to that, there was a nagging voice in the back of your mind that reminded you that not everything could be told. You couldn't state the necromancer comment, or the newfound telepathy capability. That was to be spoken of in private with Loki, no one else. There was also the matter of your health. Your throat has never felt so sore, and allowing your voice to reach its normal octave was not even relieving you of the scratching. You were tired, too, and every now and then you felt yourself slip to the side of Casimir, only for Loki’s gentle hands to pull you upright again. Nerves tormented you too, telling you that the stories you had to tell would be difficult, and that they would surely cause more sleepless nights. 

“Thank you, Ove. I am glad you are safe,” Thor said finally, reaching out to grasp Loki’s shoulder and give him a gentle shake of companionship. 

When he left, Loki resumed healing you, and as his calming voice whispered that he would never let you be hurt again, his magic pulled your mind’s strings and lulled you to sleep at ease for the remainder of the journey. You didn't fight against it, knowing that when you woke you would be refreshed enough to argue with him then. And besides, as your head rested back up against his chest and your arms hugged his neck, there wasn't an ounce of resentment to be found in you. No matter what Loki had done, you could tell from his worried brows and soothing caresses that it was not ill intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, back to calm now? For a little bit. 
> 
> If you have any theories as to what Pirko and Loki are keeping from Ove, I'd love to hear them. It was my favorite thing to read comments about how you thought they would confess to each other.
> 
> ALSO, 700 KUDOS? Wow. That's crazy. I know I always say thanks but I truly do mean it. Thank you for all of the endless support.


	39. XXXIX

When you woke, you were bundled up in furs, still in Loki’s jacket, and comfortably tucked away in a tent. The blankets were so tightly wrapped under you that you were unable to rub your eyes, but upon blinking a few times, you felt that the dirt caught in clumps were gone. You turned to look to your right, a little surprised to see Loki sleeping beside you. His arm was slung over your torso, and the bags under his eyes were more present and red than usual. You frowned a little as you looked at him, finally worming your arms out of the blankets. 

A quiet gasp escaped you at the bandages that lined them, neatly wrapped and clasped together. Small splotches of blood seeped out where you had been cut, but you were mainly concerned, and touched, by the amount of effort that Loki had clearly put in to bandage you. He stirred in his sleep, and your fingers gently ran through his hair. At the touch, his eyes opened, and almost immediately he let out a breath of relief, reaching out to you and kissing you. 

“You were out completely,” he said, and the corners of his lips finally pulled into a small smile as you reminded him that this was not the first time he had to bandage you up. “No, it wasn't,” he agreed, reaching over to pull some of the blankets off of you.

Slowly, as you tried to sit up, a spark of realization brought a creeping blush up to your face. Your hands came up to your chest underneath Loki’s jacket, and the audible sigh that left your lips made Loki shake his head quickly.

“I didn't touch those bandages,” he assured you. “It didn't seem as though you were injured there and I didn't want to invade your privacy whilst you were asleep.” You could tell he was flustered by it, and slightly nervous about what your reaction would be. It was oddly unlike him. “I figured that, especially after being revealed as a woman, you would like the privacy much more.”

“That's…” What was it? Your fingers clasped the top part of your bandages, pulling gently. “Do you have another shirt I could borrow?” You asked finally, and he nodded, having already laid one out for you. You laughed a little at the idea of borrowing yet another one of his shirts. They always ended up ruined. “I suppose it doesn't quite matter to keep the bandages on anymore. Everyone already knows and I’ll be able to breathe better without them. And...I'm still me, chest bandaged or not.” You voiced the reasoning for yourself, not for Loki, though he gave a small nod of approval. 

When you slid the jacket off of your shoulders Loki politely turned around. “You don't…” You stopped yourself, unsure of if that was what you truly wanted. The bruises across your chest were unsightly, violent and dark from too many months of constant pressure. 

“I am fine turned around, Ove,” Loki assured you, nothing but surety in his voice. “When the time comes where you are completely comfortable, then I will.”

Quietly, you thanked him, sliding his jacket fully off of you and undoing your bindings. Even with his back turned, your face burned, and you hurriedly pulled his other shirt on. You did one more button than usual, feeling too revealed without the extra measure of security. You didn't tell Loki that it was fine to turn around for a few minutes more, still fumbling with the shirt and glancing down at the discarded bandages. 

Finally; “It's fine.” 

When he turned around, you immediately turned your head away from him. Why it felt so different was beyond you. It shouldn't be. It should just feel normal, and yet it didn't. You almost didn't feel like an equal anymore. 

“Ove,” he said, and you gave a frustrated sigh before looking at him. “You are the same as always. Nothing changes because of something so trivial. You are perfect the way you are.” 

You opened your mouth to protest.

“Maybe not perfect,” Loki said, before you could speak, and your chin tucked in in an offended manner. “Because you’re stubborn, and prideful, and sometimes the way you look at me is a little rude, as though you were willing me to undress in a disgra—”

A loud noise of frustration left your throat, and your hand came up to cover his mouth. You felt his laughter against the palm of your hand, and you tried to narrow your eyes at him to get him to stop, but to no avail. “I do not look at you in any such way,” you huffed, and he pulled your hand gently away from his mouth so that he could kiss you. 

“I believe you do, occasionally,” he argued.

“Do not,” you hummed, and you raised your fist to gently hit him in the arm, but when your arm raised too high, you winced in pain. You frowned then, dropping your arm back down to your side and looking at the bandages again. 

“Are you okay?”

“Fine...mostly,” you responded, taking in a deep breath. “Why am I alive, Loki?” 

He laughed at the question, not knowing how else to respond. You gave him a pointed glare, and quickly, his laughter turned to furrowed brows. “Because you’re not dead,” he answered you quickly. “I’d say it's because I have exceptionally improved in my bandaging abilities, as well.”

“That's not...not what I meant. Your _bandaging_ abilities would not have helped when Fritjof choked me to death.”

You saw his eyes widen in panic then, and his breaths quicken in anger. “He what?” He asked, his hands gently tilting your head back to look at the discoloration on your neck. 

“He choked me to death,” you repeated, voice flat and emotionless, as though you were telling a story you were bored of. “Crushed my windpipe, and had Nevin revive me. Only he said that Nevin isn't a necromancer, but that I am. I should have died, apparently, but I didn't. And then he got angry, and he kept staring at the cowslip he put in my hair.” Loki didn't have a response this time around, and he let his hands drop from your face. “And I can use telepathy, now, which is something I was never capable of until becoming close to you.”

“I don't know what you are implying.”

You tilted your head then, and looked at him through a narrow gaze. Even he couldn't find the will to tell a proper lie about it. 

“Pirko said there was something she couldn't tell me. Something that you did to me. What did you do without telling?”

He tried to distract you, then, making a comment about how Thor would want to hear about anything you knew about Fritjof, and about how he would kill Fritjof for hurting you in such a way. The comments were half hearted, but you could tell he truly did want to kill Fritjof as he said it. 

“Stop,” you said, pushing his face away from yours when he tried to leave a loving kiss on your forehead. “Pirko said you transferred your magic into me. It was something you learned from that book you were forbidden from, correct? She said it didn't have any inherent negative consequences, but I want to hear an explanation from you. What did you do to me to keep me alive, Loki?”

His jaw shifted as he thought about his response. Finally, he swallowed, and glanced back up at you. “Everything I did was to protect you,” he started, and you froze. “There is a spell that I learned, and it involves sharing magic, like Pirko told you. I did it to keep you alive.”

“Why? _Why_ was there a need to do that?”

“Because you would have died in Hjarta if I didn't.” You stared, looking briefly down at your stomach where the three arrows had impacted you. “You had an infection from the arrows. Presumably, they were tipped with poison. Pirko and I could both feel it when we tried to heal you. We would have been able to do nothing about it unless I used that spell, and so I did, and prevented you from dying in the process.”

“But why didn't you just _tell me_ all of that before going ahead with it?”

“I would have been _lying_ if I just said that you would possess part of my magic,” he snapped, and you shifted away from him. “You also hold some of my life within you, which doesn't affect me much at all,” he said, his voice apologetic. “My magic, my life, is preventing you from dying because of your injuries, but if there is ever an extended period of time in which I cannot heal you, your injuries will catch up to you and you will die.”

“Pirko said she couldn't tell me that much.”

“Because there is a discrepancy, one that I won't tell you either.”

You shifted again, pulling blankets off of you despite being cold still. Your hands gripped the leather of his jacket, and, without looking at him, you placed the jacket in his lap. A discrepancy. One that he won't tell you either. Ever aware of his gaze on your face, you drew in a breath to try and keep yourself from growing too emotional. You would die if he didn't heal you, and yet now you didn't want him to heal you anyway. If there was something he couldn't tell you, you would sit in distrust. 

“If you tell me what it is, I'll tell you my name,” you said quietly, and a brief expression of shock crossed his face. “If you’re one hundred percent honest with me, I'll trust you with that fact.”

No answer for a few long, agonizing seconds.

“Telling you will do more harm than good,” he said, and you betrayed yourself by letting him see the disbelief that crossed your face. 

“What if I don't want you to heal me anymore then? What if I want you to let me die? Will you?”

His mouth went dry. He had never thought of you making that request. “If that is what you truly wish, then I would stop. But the guilt of stopping would probably drive me mad in some way.”

You bit your lip again, chewing it unrelentlessly. You had little care if you would tear a hole through your lip, part of you almost hoped you would. Loki’s thumb pressed against your lip, and you whispered out an objection, turning your head from him. He didn't try and reach out again, and you didn't look over in his direction. Then, you spoke again. You turned your head to look at his reaction, watching as his lips fell open and his shoulders stiffened.

“That's my real name,” you said, repeating it once more. It sounded foreign even to you, having spoken nothing but the name Ove for months. 

Loki repeated your name, and you couldn't help the small smile that reached your face as he said it. It sounded nice, coming from his lips. Sweet, even. “That's lovely,” he told you, and you waved it off with your hand.

“It is nothing special.” You could tell that there was another question he wanted to ask, and you knew it was about why you told him without him holding up his own end of the deal you proposed. “I trust you,” you answered. “I'm upset with you and _angry_ but I trust you, even if I'll still be trying to draw the truth out of you.”

 _You won't get it_ , is the answer you read from his eyes, and you shrugged your shoulders. You would. Eventually. 

“Please don't say my name around others,” you requested, hands back to fiddling with the top button of your shirt. “You can call me by it as much as you like in private, but please, do not take that final mask away from me. I want those men to see me as an equal still, and I fear that them knowing my name will only knock me down a peg more.”

He shook his head. “Wouldn't dream of it,” he responded, crossing an ‘X’ over his heart. “You don't need to fear anything about them, that much you should be aware of. When I first met you, I thought Thor’s story of you beating Volstagg in a fight was a farce to try and get me to go easy on you. I learned quickly that it was not, and if the other men need a reminder of how you beat them all as well, you’ll find a way.”

“I can't beat anyone up like this.” You didn't need to gesture to your injuries to get your point across to him.

“Then beat them with words, my love. You have nearly as equal a silver tongue as me.”

“Nearly? You flatter yourself. I can be just as persuasive if need be, perhaps more so.” He raised an eyebrow at your taunt, and you grinned a little. “I'll let you hear it another time,” you told him, and with those few words he moved towards you, kissing you again. This time, you did not pull away, and you hummed and grinned against his lips. 

“Can you not show me now?” He asked, peppering small kisses along the bruises on your neck. 

“This is all very tempting, but no,” you said, and you laughed as you felt him frown against your skin. “You’re all too poor at hiding your disappointment, Loki. I thought you claimed yourself to be a monster, and yet no monster ever wants to cuddle and kiss rather than discuss further details of war.” 

“I suppose you must be the monster then,” he mumbled, still resting his head in the crook of your neck. “A temptress, surely.”

“Flattering.” 

His hands crept up your sides, ghosting over injuries with a carefulness that made you softly smile. No matter how hard you tried to be angry at him, it seemed it was impossible to stay that way. Everything he did, everything he said, was spoken with the utmost care and respect and love for you, and it was evident now in the way he held you close to him, as though if he let you go now you would disappear again. But you couldn't stay like that. There were things you needed to discuss with others and you could not wait now that you were awake. You carefully tapped your fingers on the back of his neck, quietly asking him to let you go. He did so, muttering words about a beautiful woman denying him the affection he sought. You laughed at his dramatic words, carefully pushing on his forehead until he gave in. 

“I have to go speak with your brother, but first I would like to speak with Pirko and Maksim. I want to know how they are,” you said, slowly pushing yourself to your feet.

Loki was on his own feet in an instant, moving to help you up, but you stubbornly shook your head, standing up (crookedly) by yourself. You needed to start recovering immediately, and if you were going to regain your strength you at least needed to be able to walk. 

“Allow me to escort you there,” your prince said, and you thought it over quietly.

“Nevin isn't your biggest supporter,” you said finally, and he frowned. “But nor is he mine, so I suppose we’ll make do.”

“Did he treat you poorly?” 

You quickly shook your head. “He saved my life, at least he might have. I owe him a thank you, even if he is a sour bastard with little respect for his prince.”

“Ooh, and did you voice that to him?” 

“I figured it would be a bad time, considering I was strapped to a chair and he was locked in a cell. But next time I will be sure to tell him to respect you more. The only person who can disrespect you is me, afterall.”

The way his smirk fell off his face made you chuckle. He was so pleased with the idea of you being protective over him, and you watched as he resigned to the idea that you gave him a very typical response. 

“I did talk earlier about your rude looks,” he said, and you rolled your eyes. 

“I give you no such looks, and now I won't ever because you keep mentioning and longing for them.”

“What a _cruel_ woman,” he lamented, finally moving to push the flap of the tent open after you had fully dressed yourself and pulled on your boots. 

“That's me,” you said proudly, but all pride was wiped away when you took a few steps out of the tent, fighting to stay standing as your legs trembled.

Loki came up behind you, gently grabbing your elbow. “Let me help,” he said quietly, and you shook your head.

“No, no, I won't look weak now.” You swallowed, noticing the slight falter in your voice, and you were ashamed of it. Loki sighed beside you, but took his hand off of your elbow at your pointed glare. Still, as you walked, he stayed locked to your side, even when you had to stop for a few moments to regain your balance. Your ankle twisted during a step, and Loki carefully pushed you back to standing straight. 

“It is probably not the best for you to be walking so soon, Ove.” You could tell he wanted to turn you around right now, and his hands occasionally lingered on your skin as though he was ready to forcibly pick you off of your feet. His warning was impatient, and when you looked up at him his brows were worried and uncomfortable. “Why don't I just get Pirko and Maksim to visit the tent? Then you would not have to wa—”

“Then pick me up and force me back into the tent, I dare you.”

He groaned out his frustration. “Keep walking then, but if you fall, I'm taking you back to the tent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a break, and Loki knows Ove's real name despite him not holding up the other end of her bargain. 
> 
> I'm super exhausted right now so I'm keeping this short, but thanks so much for all of the support! 740+ kudos is awesome and I appreciate all of you.


	40. XL

“Fuck you,” you grumbled, Loki setting you back down on top of the blankets. “If you let me get up I would have been fine.”

He glanced over you once, pointing to the fresh blood poking through your shirt. “You tore open a wound, love, and you gave me permission to take you back here the moment you fell. You need more time before you can move around the way you want to. It was a grand feat for you to be able to walk as much as you did, but there is no need for you to keep pushing yourself right now.” He crouched down beside you, and you felt your shoulders sink down slowly in defeat. “Just, once, let me take care of you. I will not make you feel useless, and you wouldn't let me anyway, but I do wish to force you to relax just this once.”

“I can't _relax_. And I won't until Fritjof is dead.”

Loki’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he slowly stood back up and moved to the edge of the tent again. “I will have Thor arrive here, that way you will not have to move. Would you like Bjarke and Asger here as well?”

You took notice of how he avoided the topic of Fritjof’s life, and you knew he only did it because his death was not a guarantee. Fritjof could live, perhaps. You didn't think Odin would let him live for long, but long enough to get as much out of him as possible. At Loki’s question, you hesitated, and he waited patiently for your answer, knowing exactly why you were thinking on it.

“Only if...only if they’re alright with it. I don't know if they like me very much anymore.”

“They do, you know that,” he said, and he smiled softly before leaving you alone in the tent. 

It wasn't a long time that you were left alone, but it was enough for you to be left in your thoughts. Asger had told you that there wasn't anything to worry about; both him and Bjarke still loved you, and that wouldn't change. But nerves still ate at you about it, and now you fiddled with your shirt and buttoned it as high up as it could go. It was still loose around your neck, and you pulled the collar back so that it wasn't your chest that was revealed, but your back. You pulled your hair up, hoping that maybe it would make you look more masculine, and quickly shook your head when you realized it could just draw attention to your more feminine features. So again, you let your hair down, shaking it out so that part of your face was at least a little bit covered. 

Rubbing your eyes, you tried to rid of any remnants of tears. As much as you were upset about the matter, you didn't want to cry. There was no use in crying anymore, despite it seeming like you were becoming quite the fountain. Soon it felt like there would be no tears left at all, and good riddance if that were to be the case. You heard hushed voices by the entrance, and you tried to strain your ears to hear what they were saying, but there was still a quiet ringing from Pirko’s powers interfering. Once the tent door was opened, Loki and Thor entered first, with Asger and Bjarke huddling in behind the two princes. You moved to stand, but soon enough felt Loki’s hands pushing you back down.

“No need to stand, Ove,” Thor told you, and he sat down at one corner of the tent. “The stars know I need to sit down for once anyway,” he grumbled, and you watched as he rubbed the creases of his forehead. He looked tired, far more tired than you had ever seen him before. 

Bjarke and Asger followed suit, making themselves comfortable near the edge of your blankets. You spared them only a second’s glance, not wanting to see if disappointment crossed their faces. 

“Fritjof won't speak,” Thor said again, as soon as everyone was comfortable. “I mean he will, but it is nothing that we want to hear about. He also can't hear us. It seems the girl’s screaming rendered him deaf, but he can still read our lips.”

“Well what _is_ the bastard talking about?” Bjarke cleared his throat at the question, and at that, you turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Did you think I wouldn't ask a question like that?”

“Hoped,” Bjarke mumbled, scratching the scruff on his neck.

“What he says is nothing important. He talks a lot about you, but everything he says is a lie and we all are aware of that,” Thor said, but you would not let the explanation end there. “Ove, what he says is not something you should need to hear.”

“Let me guess then,” you said, tilting your head back as if you had to think about it. “He’s saying he slept with me, perhaps, that I asked him to, that I am nothing but a sneaky whore who slept with Loki so that he would keep my secret, and maybe he's even saying that I will betray you all unless you treat me like shit. Like I deserve.” The tent was silent then, the men avoiding your eyes. Their silence was all you needed for a confirmation. “When you spend two days being tortured by someone, you learn a lot about them.”

Loki sat next to you then, his hand playing with your hair near the back of your neck. You relaxed at his touch, and for a moment your mind was taken off of the horrors you had faced. 

“That is more than I remember,” Bjarke chimed in, and you grimaced and cursed silently. How could you so easily neglect the fact that he was tortured as well? Everytime he turned his face towards you should have been a reminder. 

“He wanted me to know,” you said quietly. “He wanted me to know exactly what he had done to his mother and sister, and what he would do to me.”

“If you are alright with talking about it—”

“I will, I will,” you interrupted Thor, a determined look set on your face. “I want to remember everything that bastard did to me so that I can do the same to him. Cutting his head off like he did to my brother is not the death he deserves anymore. He deserves to lose an eye to molten led, and he deserves for every one of those tattoos to be sliced from his skin.”

A finger tapped you on the back of your neck, and Loki did not need to speak to you for you to understand. Calm down. Don't get angry. Relax. Loki was right beside you, in case you found that you couldn't speak about it anymore. All it would take is a shake of your head for everyone to leave you alone. You kept quiet for a few seconds, breathing through your nose to try and slow your breathing. 

“The two bodies in the basement—the girl in the corner tied to the pole, and then the woman’s head on the table—they were his mother and sister. He tortured his mother, took out her eyes, then he said he loved his sister more, and so all he did to her was burn her.” You relayed more of the story of Fritjof’s childhood, and anytime you felt yourself choke on your words you felt that soft tap from Loki’s fingers to remind you to take your time. “I didn't know what to do. He told me that if I disobey, he’ll punish me, but the moment I give in entirely, he’ll just kill me. So I edged him closer and closer to anger whenever I could, and then I-I couldn't anymore.”

“He told me he leaves a mark on certain people, in case they escape. That way, if anyone else ever sees it, they’ll know that person belongs to him. That's _his_ kill, his prey.” Loki hadn’t heard this. His eyes looked over you, as if scanning for the mark you were talking about. “It's on my back,” you told him, reaching your hand back and pointing to the spot between your shoulder blades. “Fritjof is a destroyer, and as an ironic joke, his mark is the rune for peace. He carved it deep to be sure it’ll scar.”

“Do you…?” The question died off in Thor’s throat, though you could fill in the blanks.

Do you mind showing it?

“I–Uh, sure.” Your stutter made Loki whisper that you didn't have to, but you shook your head. “We’ve never seen it before, right? But...maybe it's important for something.” You turned around in your spot, and frowned as you reached for the fabric of the shirt. “Loki, could you…?”

He nodded, and he carefully pushed the shirt up your back, your arms carefully huddled around yourself. 

“By the stars, I'll murder this man,” you heard Asger mutter, and you felt Loki’s fingers tense around the fabric. 

Between your shoulder blades were gruesome cuts in the shape of the rune, dried blood smeared on the skin around it. You didn't realize right away, but you were shaking, and as soon as everyone else noticed, your shirt was dropped back down, covering up the rune and giving back your modesty. You took a few moments to calm yourself down, still worried about the faces of those around you, even though Asger’s words alone should have been enough to reassure you. 

“I drifted in and out of consciousness for the time I was there, but he made sure I was every bit awake for that,” you said through gritted teeth, shaking more as you remembered the searing pain from the knife. 

“That needs to be stitched,” Loki said quietly, and you nodded.

“Could you do it? Later on?” you asked, and he nodded. You turned back to face Thor and the others, trying to smile a little. “Thank you, again. If you hadn't arrived when you did I would have been dead.”

“We should have arrived sooner.” Bjarke’s hands were shaking, one hand moving up to rest on his missing eye. All remnants of a smile from you were gone now, and you felt tears in your eyes again. Bjarke couldn't hold his eyes on you. Everytime he looked at you, he quickly looked away, remembering the torture he had been put through and comparing it to yours. You could tell he wasn't able to look at your injuries, and that partially, he was blaming himself. “If one of us had just realized sooner that this wasn't like you, we could have gotten there before _that_.”

You shook your head. “No. I don't blame any of you for not coming any sooner than you did. I've disappeared before with my shield and mace. It's no shock that you all thought it was just me being normal.”

“But your stuff from the room was missing. That should have clued us off more than it did,” Bjarke said. 

“It's _fine_ , Bjarke.” You sighed, pushing your hands through your hair. “And if I wasn't able to talk to Loki—” You swallowed your words as quickly as they had come, watching as Asger tilted his head and Thor looked to his brother for an explanation. They had no idea of what Loki had been doing. 

“How?”

You frowned at Thor’s pointed question to Loki. It was no surprise that the man would be worried about what his brother did with his magic outside of what could be seen. Thor did not possess magic; didn't fully understand all that could be done with it. Neither did you though. Out of the corner of your eye you caught Loki rolling his eyes at the question. 

“I found a handy little instruction guide on how to transfer some of your power to someone else,” Loki explained, clearly irritated by having to discuss it under his brother’s scrutinizing gaze. “It does nothing to harm her, in fact it does the opposite. If I had not used it she would have died while we were in Hjarta from the arrows shot through her. So not only did she gain her life back because of it, she is also capable of telepathy now.”

“But only to other magic users, and I'm not very good at it,” you added, eyes darting between Asger and Bjarke as they looked at you worriedly. “I'm fine,” you told both of them, but they did not look impressed with your simple reassurance. “Better this way than dead,” you added, watching as they both tried to control the words that they wanted to say. 

Loki glanced over to you then, and you bit your lip, fully giving away that you were trying to convince yourself of that fact as well. Briefly, a flash of pain and worry crossed his face, and without others knowing, you reached a hand out to him, looping your pinky around his. 

_Sorry_ , you said, and he simply nodded, for once at a loss of words to say in response. 

There was a lapse in conversation, as gazes worriedly looked you over, and quickly shifted to look at each other. Your chin tucked in, and you looked to the bandages wrapped around your wrists. There was no need for them to speak about what they were thinking; you were already too aware of where the conversation was shifting towards. Your trial. Your treason. Perhaps, your execution.

“Will I—”

“You won't—” You bit your tongue when Thor spoke after you, quickly nodding to let him continue. “You will not be executed, Ove. Both Loki and I will vouch for your character and your honor. We would both rather see ourselves in prison for disgraceful behavior than see you be wrongfully killed. But we can't guarantee you won't be imprisoned.”

“That is hardly likely to happen, Brother,” Loki interjected, and you felt his skin grow colder in restrained rage. 

Thor shook his head. “I don't _want_ her there, Loki, but the chance that our father will let her go free of charge is nonexistent.”

“I'm fine with prison,” you muttered quietly, and Loki grunted in annoyance. 

“So long as I am alive, that will not happen. You of all people do not deserve to be in a prison with the worst of scum,” he replied, and you wrapped your finger tighter around his, sure that if he grew any angrier his skin would turn completely blue. 

“You’ll still be put on trial, but only after you are healed and looked after by our best healers. It would do you well to learn from us about how to speak to our father. You’ll need to earn his respect in some way, and you will not be able to do it if you let your temperament get the best of you,” Thor advised.

“Well I'm not _planning_ on cursing the old man out or anything.”

“You just proved his point,” Bjarke muttered, resting his head in his hands.

“Well then you all have to teach me,” you snipped. “Harass me when I curse or something.”

Asger laughed. “Are you at all prepared for that amount of harassment?”

“Fu—” You grit your teeth and smiled at him, before turning to look at Thor again. “What is a trial at the capital like?” 

“This one is likely to be different in every way, considering the circumstances. I don't know how you are to be questioned, or how much you will be able to speak at all.”

“She’ll speak as much as she likes, and _father_ will listen to everything she says even if he doesn't wish to.” Again, poison dripped from Loki’s tongue as he spoke about the Allfather. “I'll see to it that it won't work in any other way.”

“Most of the army, too, will be beside you in this trial,” Bjarke added, flashing you a quick smile that you missed seeing. 

“No doubt about that,” Asger said, and before he could even smile at you, your bottom lip was quivering. 

“Fuck,” you cursed, letting a few tears down your face before you tried your best to clear them up. 

“Cursing is not allowed,” Loki hummed, his hand back to mindlessly brushing through the ends of your hair. 

You cursed again, solely out of spite, and grinned a little when you heard laughter finally boom from your comrades’ chests. The sound was welcome and comforting, but it did not do well in stopping your tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter at all seems rushed, it's because it was. I'm currently in Las Vegas for a vacation and I nearly forgot to write. 
> 
> But hey, that means next week's chapter will be better. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the encouragement with this fic! I love you all.


	41. XLI

“If you need Fritjof to talk, I can get him to.”

The suggestion fell on deaf ears, apparently. Thor shook his head, claiming it was unnecessary. Fritjof could talk as much as needed during the trial, and until then, they would try to get anything out of him that they could. Loki said that there was absolutely no reason for you to have to be around Fritjof again, and Asger said you’d probably try to stab him if you had the privacy to. 

“But I can get the information out of him,” you pressed, and were again met with shaking heads. 

“Do you really think he would just _talk_ with you, Ove? He wants to talk to you so that he can taunt you again, not so that you two can have a peaceful chat,” Loki said, and you glared at him. 

“If I respond correctly, his taunting will turn into an angry rant.” That much you were sure of. The man loved to talk, and you knew that so long as you said the right things, he would be set off again. 

“Absolutely not.”

Again, you glared, and your prince was entirely unaffected by your attitude. He held your gaze, even raised an eyebrow in anticipation of something more from you. Asger cleared his throat, patting a hand on Bjarke’s shoulder as he stood up. 

“Well we will let you both decide that, uh, in private, then,” he said, giving you a suggestive glance that made you and Loki both roll your eyes. All three of the other men left your company, and you swore you caught Thor wink at his brother. You guffawed, elbowing Loki in the ribs as though he was to blame for their behavior. 

“Have you been talking about us to your brother?” You asked, and Loki held his hands up in surrender, shrugging his shoulders. “And what have you been saying? It's not like we’ve ever—”

Loki cut your words off with a kiss, and you lost all will to continue them even after you pulled apart. He knew what you were going to say, so perhaps it was good that he saved you from uttering it. 

“All I have said has been about the way you look at me,” he teased, and you pressed your palms against his cheeks and pushed him away. He laughed, and you tried not to crack a smile.

“Would you _quit saying that_? You’re the one with the lingering gaze.”

“Could you really blame me for that?” He asked, tilting his head and leaning back on his elbows. 

You answered with a firm yes, laying back down on your side to face him. You wished that this scenario could last for forever. Nothing seemed sweeter than lying with a silver-tongued love without anything else to worry about. You could lay with him the whole day then, just finding new ways to hear his laugh and receive his sarcastic but loving words. 

“And for the record, I have said nothing about our relationship to any of them, but when you are wrapped up in my coat and sleeping in my arms the whole way here, people begin to talk.”

Blushing in the way he had hoped you would, you ducked your head beneath your arm to hide your face from his view. “You should have woken me up then,” you grumbled, wishing none of the men had seen you cuddle up to Loki. When you lifted your arm to look at him, however, it seemed he was every bit proud of everyone else now knowing. “It's nothing to gloat about.”

“Nothing to gloat about?” He asked, carefully pulling you on top of him and wrapping his arms around you. “I get to see the woman who can kick any man into the dirt blush because of something I say. I get to hold her in the arms with only _minimal_ bruising from her fists, and I get to hear her talk about something other than war. I'd say there is plenty to be boastful about. No one else here gets to lay with you like this. I would imagine they’re all very disappointed that you did not fall for any of them.”

“I don't just talk about war,” you commented, kissing his cheek as a thank you. “I talk about plenty of other things. Like with Bjarke and Asger I talked about women, occasionally, and their childhood.”

“What about your childhood?”

You frowned. “You already know about that,” you said in a hushed voice, and he quickly corrected that he wanted to know about before Fritjof's invasion. “Oh.” You had never really discussed that with anyone. No one ever bothered to ask that question. Granted, Asger and Bjarke had tried, but you had dismissed the topic in fear that you would end up talking about something worse instead. “It was just a quiet life, really nothing special. My father was a soldier, and my mother made and sold jewelry. Most of the time, when my brother and I weren't wrestling in the yard or harassing our neighbors, we’d just sit with my mother. She taught us all about the metals and the stones she worked with, and all about the different engravings.”

You fiddled with the collar of his shirt, running your fingers over the stitches as a small memory brought a smile to your face. “Once, her work caught the attention of your mother,” you told him, and you saw a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “She wanted two rings crafted out of hammered bronze. One of your sigil, and one of Thor’s. She was so frantic about it that she wouldn't let me or Ove go anywhere near her crafting table. We weren't to even look at the rings for too long, in case something happened to them. I don't think I ever even saw the final products.”

“I don't think I have either,” Loki said, and you raised your eyebrows.

“Well I hope I didn't just ruin a very long awaited surprise. Perhaps she's saving them for something, then. Or she just likes to keep them on display in her chambers but never wear them.” You were silent in thought for a moment, wondering if what you were about to ask was even at all possible. “If I am not imprisoned or executed, do you think I could ask to see those rings?”

“Neither will happen, and I am sure my mother would be happy to show you. Could I come with you to visit your home after all of the commotion is through?”

His earnesty made your chest tighten. “I don't know if they’d want me back, or if they’re even still in the same home,” you admitted, resting your chin on his chest. “I only saw them a few times before leaving entirely, and I never said a word.”

“Do you want to?”

“Of _course_ ,” you answered, voice breaking a little at the question. “But Fritjof broke the necklace I purchased for my mother, and if I'm regarded as a criminal, they won't want anything to do with me.”

“I think a mother would be more happy with having her daughter back than having a necklace,” Loki said, and the thank you for his kind words was a small smile. 

You curled a strand of his hair around your finger, twisting and playing with it to occupy yourself while you thought of a way to ask about Fritjof again. The topic irritated him, and as much as you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, you also wanted to put your malevolent desires to rest by speaking to a deafened and beaten barbarian prince. 

“No.” A deep frown plastered itself on your face. You didn't even get to ask the question before he shot you down. “Plenty of answers will be gotten from him when he is on trial, there is no need for you to put yourself in danger by talking to him now.”

You rolled off of his chest with a huff. “I wouldn't be in danger. The bastard is tied up, isn't he?”

Loki sucked in a sharp breath. “You were shaking when you showed us that scar. If you shake that way in front of him he’ll know exactly how to get under your skin. Don't let him have what he wants.”

Your resolve shrunk as soon as the scar was mentioned. Loki must have seen the despair on your face, as he quickly sat up and took your face in his hands. He tilted your chin up and kissed you quick, but your mind was elsewhere now. Images of Fritjof cleaning a bloody knife flashed in front of your eyes, and you only barely felt Loki’s thumbs brushing away tears. He pushed your hair out of your face, quietly repeating that it was alright. 

“I'll search for a way to rid of it entirely,” he told you, and your expression softened as you looked into his eyes. “But until then, this mark makes you no less of who you are. He didn't break you, love. Temporarily you are injured, but it is not forever. You are the Goddess of Pride, are you not?”

You laughed quietly at his question. “Only proclaimed by you, Loki,” you replied, and the smirk on his lips brought you further out of your fear. 

“Well when I am king, and you are queen, everyone will refer to you by that title as well as Your Majesty.” So smooth was his reply that it took a few moments to fully process what he was hinting at. When you did, he laughed at how wide your eyes went. “Would you like that?”

“I don't know!” You said quickly, and again he laughed at your antics. “I don't even know how to curtsy, do you really think I could be a queen? The idea of it all is both idiotic and _enticing_.”

The way the word left your lips brought a grin to your lover’s face, and he wiped away the remaining tears that escaped and pulled you into his lap. “If you are queen there would not be a need to curtsy or bow your head to anyone. They will be bowing to you, or kneeling if you wish to make them do so.”

“Do you not think that making them kneel is more your style?” You snickered as he kissed your collarbone, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. “Although there are a few who I would love to have kneel before me.”

His eyebrow quirked, and the corners of his lips turned up in curiosity as he pulled away from your neck. “Name them, and perhaps it will come to be before you are queen,” he said, and again you grew red at the insinuation of being his betrothed one day. 

“Fritjof, Fiske and his companions, Nevin, an innkeeper who once kicked me to the streets when I couldn’t pay, a boy who kissed me as a dare from his drunken friends.” You simpered. Now you were just growing petty. “There _is_ another man I would like to see kneel as well,” you hinted, twirling one of his raven locks around your finger again. Surely, he knew who you meant, but he kept silent as he waited for you to continue. “He truly is a bastard. Can't keep his eyes, or his hands, to himself, and he smirks as though he owns the whole universe. I cannot _stand him_. Watching him kneel would be perhaps more entertaining than the idea of being Queen of Asgard.”

A low laugh rumbled through his chest, and you took his lips in yours again. “I can promise you,” he said when you broke for a breath, “that I can most certainly make kneeling before you more alluring than sitting atop a throne.”

“That’s a nice picture,” you hummed, leaving kisses across his jaw. His words and actions made you long to be fully alone with him, in the confines of a room instead of a tent. In a bed instead of on furs and rough blankets, and with no one else around to interrupt or cause you worry. Without injuries as well, preferably, even though it seemed you were always covered in bruises. Your skin was more purple, blue, and yellow than it was anything else. 

Loki pulled the crinkled cowslip from your hair, and looked at it for a while with a fond gaze. You tilted your head, watching as he shifted it between his fingers and fell silent in his thoughts. 

“I was surprised that you had kept this,” he said finally, and you shrugged. “I could get you any flower in the world, and yet you kept this simple cowslip of all things.”

You plucked the flower from his hands, sitting back and running a finger across its wrinkled stem. “But this was important for me,” you admitted. “I knew I loved you when you grew these cowslips for me. I knew before then, but when I held this flower I thought that perhaps it would be worth it to open up to you, because you were putting so much effort into doing the same. And I tend to hold onto things like this. I-It’s why when Fritjof tore my brother’s book and shirt, I broke down. Things like this remind me of who I’m alive for.”

“Well then carrying a wilted flower doesn’t suit that,” Loki said, and for a moment you shook your head, afraid that he had ideas to replace it. But he took it back from you gently, and drew your attention to it as his magic swirled around it. In only a few seconds, it was restored. Its petals retained their vibrance, and brought a large smile to your face. “When it begins to dull again, just tell me,” he said, and he tucked it back behind your ear. “And if it’s petals are lost, I will restore them. My mother’s favorite flower is a cowslip, plain as they are in appearance. They represent happiness and love, as well as good luck. They also tend to be related to mischief, because it is said that fairies hide inside of them.”

“Was that meant to be a hint, Loki?” You teased, remembering how he had told you about mischief, but not about love. 

“One hint amongst the many I gave.”

You sighed, laying your forehead on his shoulder. “Ridding of my nightmares, bringing food for the children, learning to heal from Pirko for my sake, yelling at me when I was reckless, and growing a whole field of flowers. How blind was I.”

“Very,” he answered, and you relished the way you could feel his body shake as he laughed. “But just because I can now freely state I love you, I will not stop reminding you in other ways. You deserve the whole universe, my love, and I intend on finding every way to give it to you.”

“I have never needed the universe to myself, and I do not need it now. I am satisfied with you.” Pausing, you pressed a kiss behind his ear. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do anything overly exceptional for you, the way you do for me, but I do love you. I’ve never been so sure of a feeling that isn’t negative.”

“No need for extravagance,” he said, hugging you closer to him. “Perhaps you should get some more rest. We still have a few more hours before we will clean up and head towards the capital again.”

“I still wish to speak to Pirko and Maksim,” you said quietly, closing your eyes as he held you.

“Will you allow me to help you walk there, then?” He asked, and you knew then that he would not allow it unless you gave in.

“Yes,” you permitted, grimacing. “But you may not pick me up, even if I fall this time, do you hear me? I love you but by the stars if you even think of carrying me you will not hear the end of it.”

He chuckled, letting you move off of him before standing up again himself. “I’d expect nothing else.” He reached a hand down to you, and gratefully, you took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You felt warmth surge through you, and you sent him a brief glance. “Please,” he said, and he almost sounded as though he would beg. “With the injuries you retained it would worry me endlessly to not heal you.”

“Will I die?” You asked, as though it was just as common of a question as ‘how are you’.

“If I stop healing you altogether, yes,” he said, and so you nodded. 

“Then go ahead, but please do not expend too much effort healing me.”

“It is _never_ too much effort if it relates to you.” 

You smiled at that then, and walked back out of the tent with him. His magic kept your legs from shaking, and for that you were grateful too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of mainly fluff because I needed it and figured you probably do too.
> 
> I can’t promise it’ll last long.
> 
> Thanks so much for 800+ kudos!! Everytime we hit a milestone like that I get a little emotional and can’t believe it. Thank you also for your comments, kudos, and for reading this in general.


	42. XLII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Valentine’s Day so I couldn’t really be too rough.

“Do they want to see me?” 

“It does not matter if they do, they are not healthy enough to make that decision on their own.”

You bristled, twisting your head to the side as you stared at the sorcerer in front of you. “If it weren’t for me or Prince Loki, you would still be under Fritjof’s influence,” you hissed. “ _I_ fed those children while you were unable to. I helped them. I tried everything to—”

“You were the one that got them caught,” Nevin said evenly. “If _Prince Loki_ had never taught Pirko to use more of her magic, they wouldn’t have been found.”

The way he spit out Loki’s title made you grit your teeth. “Well who found them, then? Fritjof isn’t able to feel their presence, so that only leaves you and the others.”

“Not to mention I taught them all how to hide their presence, not strengthen it,” Loki cut in, and you watched as Nevin seemed uncomfortable at your insinuation. 

“I blame myself for showing I cared about them, and getting them both hurt, but it is not my fault that they ended up in his grasp,” you said. “All I seek is to check on them. Pirko and Maksim mean the world to me. If after this, any mysterious harm comes to them, forbid me from seeing them again. But I will not take no for an answer, unless it comes from them.”

Before Nevin could even respond, Pirko’s head poked out of the tent, looking at you before rolling her eyes and looking at her father. “Father, I will die from exhaustion and irritation if you don’t let her come see Maksim and me.” 

“That is not your decision,” Nevin snapped, and you placed a hand on his shoulder as you walked past him towards the tent.

“It is,” you said, letting your hand fall away from him as you walked into the tent with the help of Loki. 

The two men exchanged cautious glances, Nevin sneering, and Loki only briefly looking over the burn scars he had inflicted. Then, quiet words from Loki: “She deserves this comfort, let her have it.” 

When you entered the tent, you sucked in a deep breath. When Pirko poked her head out you could see the deep bruises beneath her eyes, and the way her jaw was swollen, but now you could see everything else. Her bottom lip was split open, and a bandage was wrapped around her skinny left arm. Her knees and forehead were scraped and scabbing, and her hair was matted to her head. Silently, your eyes trailed over to Maksim, and the little boy was curled up in blankets with snot dripping from his nose. His face was just as bruised as hers, and his eyes were swollen from long nights of crying. 

“I’ll k-kill him,” you stammered, fists clenched by your sides. “I’ll kill him I swear. Pirko, Maksim, I’m so sorry. Gods, I’m so _sorry_.” With only enough restraint to make sure you wouldn’t hurt her, you knelt down and took Pirko into your arms. “You saved us, Pirk,” you whispered, fingers tangling in her hair. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, and it took her a few seconds for her to return the embrace. You pressed your face against her neck, suddenly unsure if this hug was to comfort her or to comfort you. You took in her scent and the way her shallow breathing fell shakily onto your shoulder, realizing that you might not have ever held her like this if things had gone any differently. “You saved us too, Ove,” Pirko said finally, and you felt a smear of wetness on your shoulder as she rubbed her eyes. 

“I did nothing,” you whispered, and Pirko pulled away briefly, but only to slap her hands against the sides of your face. You stared at her, and she took her forehead and placed it against yours, staring at you in earnest.

“You did _everything_ ,” she assured you. “If you hadn’t followed Maksim to where we were we would have died, Ove. Your stupid self sacrifice tactic worked this time.”

You stared back at her, unable to look her in the eyes for long before your gaze traveled back to her ghastly bruises. “It didn’t work well enough,” you said, and she remained silent.

Slowly, a tingling sensation crept through your skin. Your body shivered at the feeling, but it did not stop. You felt it in your arms, your legs, your head, but even more so in your chest. There was a thudding sensation next. A dull, rhythmic beating that was too prominent to have come from your own heart. It was comforting. Just as Loki’s own magic warmed you and put you to rest, this feeling calmed your breathing and relieved you of some dread. 

“I’m alive. Maksim is alive.”

And suddenly you were aware of what it was you were feeling. Your palm pressed lightly against the center of Pirko’s chest, and she nodded. When the feeling began to fade, you panicked. “Don’t stop yet,” you pleaded, and the feeling returned. Your fingers splayed across her chest, and your palm twitched with every beat of Pirko’s heart. 

Pirko allowed you a few minutes more before her magic left you again. This time, you didn’t panic or worry, you just brought the girl in for another hug. When you let go, it was because you felt a small tug on your sleeves, and Maksim was finally sitting up. It only took him seconds before he was sitting in your lap, his arms around your neck. He whispered an apology to you, and you shook your head.

“You had to, it’s okay,” you told him, and you glanced over to Loki to see how he kept looking between you and the outside, awaiting the moment in which Nevin would come in to ruin the moment. “It’s fine, Maksim,” you whispered, and you nodded to Loki to let him know that if Nevin wanted to enter, it was fine. All he would see is how much you cared about these kids, anyway. 

Loki stepped away from the entrance, crouching so that he, too, could talk to Pirko. They exchanged hushed words, and he reached his hand out and gave her a short, awkward pat on her head. “If you at all have the chance in the future, I can help teach you more,” he told her, and you smiled. 

“That’s unnecessary, she can learn what she needs to from anyone else.”

You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath when you heard Nevin speak again. It was only a matter of time, after all, and you couldn’t grow too angry with him when he was Pirko’s father. A brief look of disgust crossed Loki’s face, before he stood straight and turned towards him. For a moment, you worried he would do something rash, and then he smiled. It was certainly not a smile he would give to you, as it lacked all genuity and was fiercely deceitful. It was the smile he would have given you before he had gotten to know you, and was reminiscent of when he had pushed you to the ground. It was the smile he was known for. 

“I am simply offering her an opportunity, Nevin,” Loki said, his hands clasped behind his back. “I am not the same person I was when I was a child, and I have more resources than I had had then. Plus, every encounter I have had with Pirko has taught me that she is not someone who would allow herself to be tricked.”

Nevin scowled. “I once thought of myself in that way, until you came along and nearly killed me because you weren’t granted access to more power.”

Loki didn’t blink, and his smile didn’t falter. “I am not as rash as I once was,” he said simply, letting his hands fall back to his sides as he leaned closer in to Nevin. “But if you at all decide that Ove deserves harsh actions and harsher words, I am likely to return to the way I was as a child.” 

You looked down at Pirko, and she was squinting as she looked at Loki. With a tilt of your head, you realized what had been done. Loki had spoken the words to Nevin, but only loud enough so that he could hear. Pirko and Maksim heard none of it, but Loki had made sure to tell you telepathically. You watched as Nevin didn’t respond to the threat, and Loki backed away with an even larger smile; one that came off more as a challenge. 

You decided to change the topic then, hoping to ease the tension. “Will all of you be remaining in the capital during the trial?” 

“It will likely be required,” Nevin responded, voice still devoid of any emotion. “Although I would rather return to Hjarta.”

“And will you stand by me in my trial, or will you claim I am wicked and deserving of execution for my treason?” 

Why the question left your mouth, you didn’t know. Even Loki looked at you quizzically for a moment, and Nevin was completely thrown off. He had not expected you to be so straightforward about it. 

“I am not sure you are capable of being executed,” came his answer, and you stared at him. “Loki would probably be capable of bringing you back, considering the spell he has been using to keep you alive so far.”

“Necromancer,” you said, and Nevin stepped aside. 

“It is time you leave now,” Nevin said, and you carefully placed Maksim back in his blankets. 

When you stood, you grasped Loki’s hand, squeezing tightly. As you passed Nevin, you spoke again, “If I am a necromancer, it would be wise for you to be on my side, would it not?”

As soon as you left the tent, Loki was trying to explain himself again. “I understand, Loki,” you told him, frowning. “I am aware that you were forbidden from those spells for a reason, and I know that you did not do anything to harm me.”

“But do you—”

“I do,” you said, firmly. “I trust you more than the insinuations made by others.”

At that, he grinned, looking back to the tent and laughing a little. “Between my threat and yours, I would reckon that we are already making a name for ourselves.”

“We already knew that would happen, did we not?”

 

Loki spent the next few hours healing you, as you patiently leaned forward and rested your chin on your knees. At some point, you figured you drifted asleep, put at ease by Loki’s gentle hands as they rubbed your sore shoulders and turned cuts into scars. But now you felt his hand drift towards the middle of your back, and your eyes snapped open. You stared ahead of you as he lifted your shirt enough to reveal Fritjof’s mark, and his fingers flit over them painlessly. You felt his magic around the cuts, hoping silently that he would be able to rid of the mark entirely. When you finally turned your head to look at him, though, you saw his mouth in a thin line and his brows furrowed. 

“What is wrong?” You asked him, but you already knew the answer. He couldn’t heal the cuts.

“Do you…” The question died off, as he thought of a better way to phrase it. “Do you remember if his knife was dipped in anything?”

“No, I mean, maybe, I didn’t see,” you answered, and you became aware that his hand was still around the mark. “Why?”

You heard him grumble to himself then, before he answered, “It had to have been dipped in a potion of sorts. It seems plausible considering he had access to so many sorcerers, and there’s something in you that isn’t Asgardian. It isn’t part of your cells, and it’s preventing them from healing fully.” Your throat shut. You didn’t breathe for a while until you felt Loki’s lips press against your cheek, and you were forced to finally inhale. “I will find a way.”

His reassurance didn’t stop you from pulling your shirt back down to cover it, and it didn’t stop you from muttering about how it was hideous. “Can’t it be cut off?” You asked, and you tried not to pay attention to the angry and worried look that crossed his face. “I’ve heard of people cutting off parts of themselves to rid of a scar they hated. If I were to do that, it might heal then,” you added quietly.

“That would bring you more harm than good,” Loki said, disturbed by even the thought of it. “You are not immune just because I can heal you. You would still feel every bit of pain from that process.”

“But it would– _he_ did–it’s his–it would be gone.” A breath. “It would be gone.”

He pulled you closer to him, and the way his back pressed against yours calmed you down significantly. You could feel his heartbeat vibrate against your shoulder blades, and he leaned his chin on your collarbone. “I promise I will do everything I can to rid of it,” he whispered, and you closed your eyes and nodded, “and if I don’t, I promise I will make you forget about it. I will never address it, and if I touch it I will be careful to not make you think of it.”

“God of Evil,” you murmured, and you felt his lips twitch up into a smirk against your skin. “If only the fools had ever seen you behind closed doors.”

“I reserve it all for you,” he said, his hands finding yours and squeezing. “Even if the bastards were welcome to see me alone, I still wouldn’t act in the way I do towards you. None of them deserve it.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder. “Language, Loki,” you commented lightly. “How am I supposed to learn to be eloquent from someone who isn’t so themselves?”

“Tricks, love, tricks,” he responded. “On the way I will ask you questions that you are likely to be asked, about your motives, and about your respect towards the throne.” Respect. You almost rolled your eyes at the word. You respected his mother from the stories he had told you, but for Odin you had little. You would not respect that man until he had shown you he was worthy of it. “Fabricate your answers if you have to, which you will, knowing you. You will have to win over most of Asgard, as well, which will not be as difficult as convincing Odin. You are already well liked amongst most you have met.”

“Save for a few who would love to see me in prison,” you remarked, wondering if Fiske would open up his fat mouth to go against you. 

“Oh hush.” Loki dismissed your worries with a wave of his hand. “You will not be in prison, but rather, in a bedroom with me, where we can be alone, preferably.”

“What if I want my own room?”

He frowned, and you chuckled. “Then so be it, but I can’t say I won’t come to visit you far too often.” 

“Well if you plan on being that irritating, I suppose sharing a bedroom wouldn’t be too bad,” you hummed, but your smile slowly melted away as you heard people outside begin to clean up their belongings. It was time to get moving again, and you didn’t even want to think of sitting on a horse for a few more hours. 

Loki carefully let go of you and stood, picking up his jacket off of the floor and holding it out to you. “I don’t need it,” you told him, but he stared at you until you grumbled and let him slide it on you. “I don’t need it,” you said again, and he pat his hands on your shoulders with a proud smile on his face.

“And yet you let me put it on you, and so now it will stay,” he said, beginning to roll up the blankets. You leaned down to try and help, but he shook his head. “Unnecessary.” 

You crossed your arms at the simple answer, and begrudgingly watched him roll the rest of the blankets up. “I’m going to go see Halvor before we leave,” you told him, and he looked up to see if you would need help. “I can walk there on my own, I promise.”

He let you, albeit a little reluctantly. When you reached Halvor, it seemed he had been expecting you for far too long. He knickered, stomping his feet on the ground excitedly as you slowly walked over to him. When you reached him, you smiled widely, laughing as he bit down on the collar of Loki’s jacket. 

“He was concerned I would be too cold,” you told Halvor, and your horse snorted in protest. “I’m sorry Hal, I should have come over sooner.” You ran your fingers along his neck, planning on staying with him until it was time to leave. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You turned your head towards the soldiers around you, watching as they mounted their horses with a frown. You moved to scratch against his neck again, but felt nothing but air. Confused, you turned around, and tears stung your eyes as you saw how far Halvor bowed down, hoping you would be ready to ride him again. 

“I’m in too much pain right now, but Pirko and Maksim are still in need of a ride,” you said, but Halvor stayed low. “Hal, _please_ ,” you begged, leaning down and trying to pull his neck up. “I can’t,” you said again, and finally, he stood up, pressing his muzzle into your palm so that you could scratch under his chin. “As soon as possible, we’ll go on a run together,” you whispered, kissing his muzzle as Loki approached with Casimir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing these more intimate scenes with Loki and Ove. I want to get across how much these two have grown to care about each other as well as possible.
> 
> As always, thank you so so much for reading, commenting, drawing fanart, and leaving kudos! You guys are incredible, and make this story worth everything to me.


	43. XLIII

Oddly, Loki didn’t try to stop you from stealing his knife this time. You unwrapped a piece of the bandage around your arm and cut it from you, twisting back around to hand it to the man directing the horse that Fritjof was on. 

“Gag him,” you sneered, sliding the knife back into its rightful place as the soldier tied the bloody bandage painfully tight around Fritjof’s mouth. “Deaf and mute suits you,” you said, being sure you said it clear enough so that he could read your lips. “Perhaps blind will be a later addition.”

His eyes didn’t bother you, even when they had been faced in your direction for an hour straight. It was his words that bothered you. His comments about your comrades unsettled you, and, before he was rightfully punched in the back of the head, he had spoken of things he wished his men could have done to you. You had felt Loki’s rage then. He was all tense muscle and sharp inhales, and so when you grabbed his knife he didn’t even care. He probably would have let you stab the barbarian in his rage. 

_“Does that bother you, God of Evil?”_

With Fritjof gagged now, you turned back to Loki, who still had his arms protectively wrapped around you, his knuckles almost white from his grip. The pressure didn’t hurt; knowing that he was so fiercely unamused at Fritjof’s antics made the grip more satisfying than anything. 

“Would you like his tongue cut out?” Loki asked you, and you smiled.

“I think that would get you in trouble with the Allfather as well,” you responded. 

“And yet that was not a no,” he hummed. “So who are you? Why did you dare commit treason?”

You groaned at the question, sick of answering it for him. You stated your name, in a quiet whisper so that no one else would hear it. “I am from one of the first villages that Fritjof pillaged. My brother had his head cut off, and I dedicated myself to training so that I could seek revenge. I trained to the point where I was kicked out of my house, because my parents couldn’t deal with my way of grieving. I wanted to fight in the Asgardian army against the barbarians, but then you, King Asshole—” Loki gave you a disappointed look, and you smirked. “—Allfather, forbid women from participating in this war to minimize casualties. However, I felt I was an above average soldier and sought to still fight, so I trained as a man under my brother’s name. I was admitted as one of the best, and I still am.”

“Too cocky,” Loki said, and you rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t necessarily like cockiness unless it comes from my brother, and he certainly won’t believe you with the amount of bandages you currently wear.”

“Fine. I was admitted as one of the best, and I feel I proved my worth to the army through my actions. Fritjof has been captured, and the sorcerers of Hjarta have been freed.”

“But couldn’t any man do the same thing you did?”

“No. I attracted Fritjof’s attention because I am a woman who carries herself with pride and fury. A man would have been tortured by him, yes, but not given the same information he gave me. He tracked me down because he hates women, and that gave an opportunity for him to be distracted.”

“And what of your relations to Loki?”

You gawked at his question. “He’s not really going to ask that, is he?” You asked, and Loki shrugged, noting it as a possibility. “Well what should I say then? Should I be honest, or will he deem me some sort of whore, like Fritjof had done?”

“Be honest,” Loki answered. “I will be nothing but honest when I am questioned about it, and anything that could soften his opinion on you will be beneficial.”

“Then… _completely_? Even about how you hated me?”

“I never hated you, I just found you a nuisance for a while,” he said, and you chuckled. “You can start with how I found out you were a woman, I suppose.”

“Sure,” you said, and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to give an answer to the question that was originally posed. “I don’t believe I have to practice this one, Loki.”

“What if I wish to hear the answer? What if something you say is unacceptable?”

“I don’t care if you wish to hear it, you should already know that what I will say is positive.” You silenced him with a short kiss, pulling away only because you were aware of other people looking in your direction. 

Loki smiled at you despite insisting once more that he wished to know, but you raised a hand and pushed his face in another direction as a firm ‘no’.

The rest of the day passed with little hiccup, besides Fritjof somehow managing to take his gag off. He only lasted a few moments, however, before Loki silenced him with magic rather than with a bandage, just as he had done to you once before. Now, you were passing through the capital’s market streets, and you were grateful that you had made the decision to turn around on Casimir so that your back was against Loki’s chest instead of facing him. Nerves were beginning to eat at you (and your lip) as people silently questioned you with scrutinizing gazes, wondering why you were a woman returning from this war, and why you were so close to Prince Loki. Loki could feel your nervousness, and he slipped his arm around your waist and gave anyone who looked in your direction for too long a disapproving glance. 

“They just don’t know who you are yet,” he told you, a confident air to his voice. “And when they do, they won’t look at you with anything but reverence.”

“I think they would look at me a little differently if I were not wearing your clothes,” you replied, about to make another biting remark when Thor approached on his horse.

“Ove,” he said, and you turned to face him better, your playful smile turned into a thin line in preparation for whatever Thor was going to have you do. “Since Loki and I will have to speak with our father first, I am going to have Lady Sif guide you to the infirmary. Let them heal you as much as they can, and leave discussing your arrangements to us.”

“My arrangements?” You asked, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “You mean whether or not I will be staying in a room or a prison cell?”

Thor grumbled something about your straightforwardness before nodding in confirmation. “Yes, that. If you feel uncomfortable with Lady Sif, for whatever reason, bring along someone else. I am sure that Bjarke or Asger will have the free time to do so.”

You glanced over to your two friends as their names were spoken, only looking briefly before turning away. “I wouldn’t want to bother them,” you responded quietly, shaking your head. “Lady Sif will do.” The words left your mouth, but you weren’t sure if you meant them. You had never met Lady Sif before, only heard of her through rumors and through how the other men in the army described her. She was someone you did not want to upset, though you wondered if she would already scorn you for your decisions. 

Just outside of the castle was where Lady Sif stood, sword sheathed and a look of seriousness on her face. Only when her gaze reached Thor did she smile, approaching him with open arms as soon as he was off of his horse. “It is good to see you back!” She called, patting him on the back before turning to greet her other friends as well. 

While you were watching them, Loki stepped down from Casimir, waiting to help you off as well. When your feet touched the ground, your knees gave way, and Loki carefully assisted you in standing. You noticed this time how he held his hand under your arm in a way that tried to make you appear less dependent on his strength, and you whispered a thank you to him. You were certain that if you had not ridden Casimir for hours, you would be able to stand on your own. But because of the soreness you felt, your body didn’t wish to stay standing. It wanted to crumple into a ball, but you weren’t going to let that happen. 

Thor must have mentioned you then to Lady Sif, because she turned towards you and her smile had disappeared. She stepped towards you, greeting Loki with a curt ‘welcome back’ before her eyes traced your form. “I am Sif. I will show you to the infirmary where we will also be able to find you clothes that fit you better,” she introduced herself, making no efforts to hide how short she was being with you.

“Ove,” you said, lifting your chin a little more and meeting her gaze with an even one. “I am afraid I cannot walk on my own, though,” you added, and she frowned slightly before offering you her arm. 

“I will come for you as soon as we are done,” Loki assured you, and you smiled before allowing Lady Sif to start walking you towards the infirmary.

You walked in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, your pace slow only because you couldn’t bare the pain of walking any faster. You tried to train your gaze on anything besides Sif, looking to the walls, the pillars, the floor; anything besides her. But no matter how hard you tried to avoid her, she eventually spoke.

“Are you and Loki an item?” She asked, and you blushed at how forward she was.

“Yes,” you answered, and she tilted her head.

“And you trust him?”

“To my grave.” 

“Interesting.”

Silence for a minute more, before you spoke first this time. “What do you think of what I have done? I’ve noticed that you look at me as though I am a disgrace.”

“You _are_ a disgrace,” she snipped, and you fought the urge to pull away from her supporting grasp. “However, if all that I heard from Thor is correct, you are a trusted disgrace.”

You rolled your eyes. “But still a disgrace,” you muttered.

Her answer came sharply: “You directly betrayed the Allfather’s orders for selfish reasons. That alone makes you a disgrace, although you have also somehow found yourself in the lap of Loki, so perhaps that adds to it.” You went to protest against her words, but she continued, “That is not an insult against him, Ove, but if you think that everyone here will agree with the relationship, you are naive.”

You thought for a moment, before shaking your head. “It does not matter what everyone else thinks. It matters what he thinks.” She didn’t respond this time around. “Why call me trusted and also call me a disgrace? Surely you must have some non-conflicting feelings towards me.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes then, and you noticed with a frown and a grimace that she had started walking a little bit faster, dragging your feet a little bit more. “Envy.”

“Envy?” You repeated, face screwed up in confusion as she turned in to the infirmary and set you down at a bed. Before she continued her response, nurses came over to assess your health, already beginning to prick you with needles and forcing you to drink medicinal waters. But you remained concentrated on Lady Sif, wanting to know why it was she envied you, even with the position you were in. 

“Yes,” she said finally, handing a nurse fresh bandages when she was asked to. You could hardly pay attention to your state of undress as you waited. “Envy because I know why it is you committed treason, and because you had an opportunity I did not. I wished myself in this war, to kill the barbarians that slaughtered some of my closest friends, but I did not have that opportunity. I had no way to hide, no way to disguise myself.” She turned her head away politely as a nurse looked at the bruises across your chest from the bandaging. “You had that, I did not. I am not an unaccomplished warrior. I have won many battles, and yet you, someone who had not fought in battle before, managed to slink your way into the army amongst the strongest of men.”

“Ah.” You frowned, not having ever thought of the other woman who probably longed to fight. “Envious of me even now? In knowing that I was tortured and will now be on trial?”

Lady Sif stiffened, then shook her head. “No, I am most certainly not envious of that. But if you have both Thor and Loki’s trust, I doubt you will receive as harsh a punishment as you should.”

“I don’t believe I deserve a punishment at all,” you said, noting how she immediately turned to wait at another part of the room so that the conversation would not have to continue. You almost felt inferior to her in the moment. She stood with such an air of confidence, while you couldn’t quite stand at all. 

A nurse touched the sigil on your back, and you turned around to snatch her wrist away. “Do _not_ touch that,” you snapped, and she recoiled away from you. “It doesn’t need to be touched. It can’t be healed anyway,” you explained, voice softening when you realized they didn’t deserve your harshness. “I don’t want to be a burden, but are there other clothes I could use?”

Lady Sif had been looking at you since your outburst, and she nodded. “For now you can borrow some of my clothing. I retrieved some from my room since I was told you would need some.” She opened a closet, pulling out a pair of pants and a shirt. “I figured pants would suit you better than a dress.”

Quietly, you thanked her, pulling your shirt off fully to replace it with the new one. It felt much better to be in a shirt that fit you, despite how comfortable you were in Loki’s. 

A nurse spoke, stumbling over what to call you, “Lady…”

“Just Ove.”

“Ove, we have advanced technology here that may be able to rid of that scar, if you’d allow us to look at it.”

“I don’t want you to.” You sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the new pair of pants on. “Perhaps I’ll change my mind when Fritjof is dead, but I don’t want anyone looking at or touching it if I do not know and trust them well enough to allow it.”

“Don’t you wish for it to be gone?”

You turned your head towards Sif, who clearly did not understand why you would reject any offer of removing it. “Would you wish it gone?” You didn’t wait for her answer. “Yes, but I have someone I trust more than strangers.”

“And you think he can find the solution, rather than a team of trained healers?”

 _He found the solution to my death,_ you wanted to say. But you pursed your lips to prevent that information from leaving them. “Loki usually attempts everything to get his way, does he not?” Sif’s brows furrowed, but she mumbled in agreement. “Exactly. And I, too, am someone who attempts to get what I want, and for now I wish for no one here to mention the sigil on my back ever again.”

 _Are they bothering you?_ Your eyes flit over to Loki as he stood in the doorway, and you shrugged at his question. A little, but it was nothing you were unused to. “The sigil on her back was carved with a potion. It can only be healed once that potion is found out, and it has a cure. In this case, I have more resources than you all do.”

The nurse that had tried to persuade you quickly ducked her head as Loki entered the room, and you didn’t know how to feel about that response. He was to be respected, and yet at the same time she looked to fear him more than anything. “I am deeply sorry, Prince Loki. I only wished to help her.”

Loki smiled genuinely, walking over and offering you his hand. “You did nothing wrong. You just did your job,” he told the nurse, and she quickly nodded, a look of relief on her face.

“What’s the verdict?” You asked, gratefully taking his arm as you stood. “Prison cell or a regular room?”

“A room,” Loki answered, but there was still a scowl on his face despite the good news. “Though Odin wishes to specify that it is a temporary placement, and that guards are to be at your door every moment you’re in the room.”

“Like being babysat,” you scoffed, turning to thank the nurses for helping you, and apologizing for lashing out. Lady Sif seemed unsure of whether to follow as you thanked her as well. 

“I’ll have someone send more clothes your way,” she said. “Although you will probably have to wear a few dresses during your time here.” She laughed at the sour expression that crossed your face, and you were surprised she was even capable of that, especially after expressing her distaste towards you.

“That’s just lovely,” you remarked. “But thank you. Perhaps envy can eventually shift into something else.”

She gave you a half smile. “Perhaps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Sif!! I love her, so I wanted to include her in some (little) way. 
> 
> Gotta say it makes me so happy that you guys love Halvor so much. Sassy horse sidekicks in movies are my absolute favorite, so I wanted Halvor to be similar.
> 
> Thanks so much for over 850 kudos!! And thank you for leaving comments as well. My favorite thing is truly to read over your comments and respond to them.


	44. XLIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly longer than usual haha.

Guards were already at the door to the room when Loki and you arrived. You puffed up your cheeks, refusing to even look at them as Loki held open the door for you. As soon as he shut it, you exploded in frustration.

“What am I? _Five_? Does King Asshole think I’m going to be running away or causing a ruckus in the palace?”

Loki looked relieved that he had shut the door completely. “I believe you might be causing a minor ruckus right now,” he said slowly, and you let go of his arm finally to sit yourself on the floor, not willing to bother yourself to walk all the way towards the bed. 

“Better this than a prison cell.”

“I should warn you,” Loki started, and you waved your hand for him to continue. “It is likely my mother will request for you to eat with us tonight. You’ll need a dress to wear, though if it were my choice I wouldn’t mind you to wear what you usually do.”

“You mean sweat and blood stained clothing?”

“More so pants,” he said with a laugh, appreciating your dry humor even now. “Sit between Thor and I, as well. We’ll be able to give you pointers in regards to your manners. If you feel my elbow jammed in your ribs at any time, that is why.”

“Do you think Odin would really appreciate my appearance?”

“No.” His honestly made you fall fully to the ground. “However because we have already vouched so much for you, my mother is insatiably curious about what you are like. She...also probably has her suspicions of our relationship, and would like a confirmation.”

You frowned at him. “Did you say anything about it?”

He shook his head, walking over to you and carefully picking you up off of the ground. You remained limp in his arms, only wishing to give him a tough time until he answered you. “No, but I also don’t stand up for just anyone. It is hard to hide my fondness of you.”

As he finished speaking, he unceremoniously dropped you down into the soft bed, and you practically sunk fully into it. He laughed then at the expression of surprise on your face, as you leaned up on your elbows and your fingers rubbed against the blankets. “Is this how you sleep normally?” You asked him. “In a bed this soft?”

“If this is how you are reacting now, I truly cannot wait for you to taste the food later tonight,” he said, joining you in the bed and pulling you closer to him so that he could rest his head in the crook of your neck as he always did. “It is most certainly better than what we have gotten used to eating.”

You pulled your arms out from his grasp so that he was only hugging you by the waist, and giggled as you felt his fingers twitch against your side. “You are most likely creating an awkward situation for the guards, Loki,” you told him. “Their job is to watch over me, and yet they also can’t tell a prince to fuck off.”

“Do you really care about them though? You were just complaining about them only moments ago…”

You shook your head. “I don’t have a care in the world about them, I’m just thinking of the rumors that will spread further once you leave this room.” At that moment you felt Loki kiss and suck a spot just beneath your jaw. A frantic mix between a squeak and a moan left your mouth, and you pressed your palm against his forehead to push him away. When you could look at his face again, there was a proud and wolf like grin on it. “You did _not_ ,” you said, red in the face from embarrassment as he gave a carefree shrug of his shoulders. “Loki, you snake! What if they see that? They definitely will, you know.”

“Just don’t turn your head to your right,” Loki told you, and you were unable to form a proper response, stuttering profanities as the thought of Odin seeing it set in. 

“You are such a bastard,” you hissed, rolling your eyes at his laughter. “I haven’t had someone leave a mark in such an obvious place since I asked someone to just to piss off my parents. You’re insufferable.”

“Is that your way of saying you would like another?” He asked, fully ready to leave another mark on your neck before you pushed yourself into a sit. 

“No,” you told him, though you were having a tough time sounding stern when he was laughing so much. The next time he went to leave a kiss, you ducked your head, hands holding him still as you left your own mark on him. 

“Fair is fair, I suppose,” he said as you pulled away. “Although I can heal myself.” 

Your eyes widened as you blurred out a protest. “No, you have to live with that too. Just don’t turn your head to your right,” you told him, mocking him with your poor impression of him. He was about to say something more when a knock at the door drove both of you stiff for a moment. Quickly, Loki stood from the bed, offering you a hand as well.  
“Either way this looks exactly like what it was,” you muttered, before calling for the person to come in. 

In walked in a palace servant, with dresses and nightgowns in her arms. She looked to you, and then to Loki, and you ducked your head when you realized it was very likely that she would see the marks on your necks. “I hope I’m not interrupting anythi—.”

“You’re not,” you said quickly, walking over to her as best you could to take the dresses from her. “Thank you.” You hoped your thanks would send her on her way, but she just raised a questioning eyebrow at you. “What?” You asked, turning your head towards Loki as he snickered to himself. 

“None of those dresses can be put on by yourself, Ove,” he informed you, brushing past the maid and whispering a small order to her before speaking to you again, “I’ll be back to bring you to dinner as soon as it is time.”

You nodded slowly, watching as he left and you were left with the maid. As demure looking as she was, she towered over you in her height. She was laying out the dresses on the bed, putting them into three separate piles. You watched her curiously, wondering what the difference was between two of the piles. One was surely for nightgowns, but you couldn’t find the difference between the other two with just your eyes. Carefully, you picked a dress up from one pile, turning it around and frowning at the open back. You placed that one back down and picked up one from the other pile, flipping it around in your hands until you spot the reasoning. A smile graced your face as you realized that Loki had asked the maid to not place you in a backless dress. 

“I’ve never heard of Prince Loki ever requesting something like this for anyone,” the maid spoke, and you blushed. 

She carefully took your arm, asking for your permission to help you undress. You nodded, though through every moment of it you were uncomfortable. You stayed absolutely silent when your shirt left you, closing your eyes tightly as you were sure she was looking at your cuts. However, she stayed silent about it, and her hands never touched it as she helped you into one of the dresses. 

You looked into the mirror as she laced up the back, and you frowned. The dress itself was gorgeous, hugging your form perfectly with a shimmering gold fabric. It had a high neck that covered the bruising on your chest, and a beautiful train that billowed around your feet. “I don’t suit this,” you said, and the maid frowned as well.

“Why not? Lady Frigga picked these dresses out for you,” the maid said, and you shook your head.

“I’m not—you would better suit this.”

She laughed then, and shook her head. “But I am not having a dinner with the royal family. I think you look wonderful enough to make even Prince Loki blush,” she assured you, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you did not belong in a dress so nice. 

Your bandages were hideous, and your face was still marred with small cuts and bruises that still stung when you smiled. How you were fit for a Prince was unknown to you. 

The maid pulled you back out of your thought as she put a brush to your hair. “Stay in the dress for now,” she said quietly, sitting you down in a chair as she brushed out stubborn knots. “Maybe after all of this you will feel more comfortable.” 

“Keep my hair down, please,” you said, and she nodded her head in understanding.

“Not wanting to risk them seeing the lovemark, hm?” She asked, and you felt heat rise to your face again. “I’ll keep it down.” 

After your hair was brushed out, she undid your bandages only to wrap them up again with new ones, taking extra time to make sure they were neat. By the time she was done, you had to admit they more looked like gloves than bandages. Her nimble fingers carefully tucked the end of the bandage in on itself, and she smiled at her own handiwork. 

“Thank you,” you told her, and she happily stood up. 

“It’s my job,” she said, giving a graceful bow. Before she could leave, you stopped her, asking her to bow again. Again, she raised an eyebrow at your strange request, but did so anyway. 

“Do I have to do that when I meet them?” You blurted, carefully standing up. Thankfully, you were in flats. You didn’t know if your legs would be able to stand on heels. 

“Is it too much for you? A simple nod of your head will suffice, I am sure. You are injured, after all, and if you enter with the princes then there will not be a problem at all.”

A nod. You could do that. Not like one of the curt nods that you give anyone else, but a nod of respect. You could manage. “I’m sure there’ll still be a problem, but thank you,” you said, and you were certain that you had never thanked anyone as much as you had today.

You sat yourself back down on the chair as the maid left the room, tapping your foot and playing with your fingers as you waited for Loki. If you were willing to inconvenience her, it would have been nice for the maid to stay with you while you waited. Right now, you were certain you’d completely bite through your lip if you were left alone for much longer. And sure enough, when Loki finally opened the door to your room, you were miserably holding a tissue to your bottom lip. 

“It’ll be fine,” Loki said softly, pulling the tissue from your lip and healing the bite effortlessly. Having been biting it for a while now, your teeth instantly snagged on your bottom lip again, and Loki gently pinched your cheek until you stopped. “Is it the dress?” He asked, and helped you stand. Your arms stayed crossed over you, even when you could see the fondness in his gaze. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he breathed finally, and you punched him in the arm. 

“Don’t kid,” you told him, glaring up at him until he held your face in his hands and kissed you.

“By now you should know when I am lying,” he said, and your expression softened. 

Silently, you grabbed his arm, letting him lead you out of the room as you focused on not tripping over the skirt of your dress. When you entered the dining room, you were very grateful for Loki’s presence directly by your side. If you had to enter the room yourself, you doubted you ever would. Your timid nature, you decided, was all because of the dress. In your regular attire, you would have been able to enter this room without a problem, but right now you felt very out of your element. There were no weapons in the room, or rowdy men with beer glasses. Just the royal family. 

Despite the maid before telling you that a simple nod should suffice, you felt yourself bowing as low as your body would allow, nervous that showing any amount of disrespect would have you in deeper trouble than you already were. 

“That’s unnecessary, dear.”

You looked up at Frigga silently as she spoke, giving a small nod as a thank you and letting Loki take you to where you would be seated. You let out a breath when he sat you between himself and Thor, pleased that now both princes would be able to help you along. You had heard many stories of unfortunate meetings with a partner’s parents, but you had never heard of meeting with your partner’s parents who were contemplating executing you. Or, if not executing, throwing you in a prison for the rest of your life. 

“How are you feeling?”

“What?” You were too busy trying to figure out the silverware to properly listen to Frigga. Next to you, Thor was trying not to laugh, and you nervously shifted in your seat. 

Frigga, however, wasn’t too shocked, and gave Thor a pointed glare before repeating her question for you. “How are you feeling? I am sorry if this was all too much for you right now, but I was curious to meet the woman who had disguised herself as a man for months.”

Loki knocked his elbow into yours when you went to grab the wrong fork, and your fingers hovered over the other until you received a nod from him. “I am just a little tired,” you answered honestly, smiling nervously as your gaze drifted towards Odin. “Thank you for inviting me for dinner,” you added. “And for the room, as well.”

“If she hadn’t harassed me about it, you would be downstairs,” Odin said, leaning back in his chair as he glared at you from across the table.

You didn’t know how to respond in a way that would be civil, and so you swallowed down your pride and instead opted to take a sip of your drink. 

“Does that really need to be discussed now of all times, Father?” Loki asked, a scowl on his face. “It hardly seems appropriate when she was invited here to eat with us. You can question her all you would like when it is time to.”

“It hardly seems appropriate to commit treason, as well, and yet she had no problem with that.” 

You nearly choked on your water, having to cough into the crook of your arm.

“Stop it,” Frigga said abruptly, and for a moment you were worried she was telling you to quit coughing. “I invited her to talk to her civilly, outside of a courtroom. If you would rather treat her as a criminal now, you can leave.”

“She _is_ a criminal,” Odin fired back, already red in the face from the confrontation.

You were certain your lip was bleeding again, and yet you still had plenty of spite. “I am no more a criminal than—” It was Thor who coughed to cover up your words this time, and Loki rested his hand on your shoulder, certain that you were ready to spring up from your seat. “I am not a criminal,” you muttered under your breath, watching as Odin stood from his seat and went to move to exit the room.

“Pardon me. I had never known proper etiquette to involve eating with a woman so improper that she wears a mark on her neck without even so much as trying to cover it,” he said, tapping the corner of his jaw before turning away from you and fully exiting the room.

Beside you, Thor was laughing very loudly, and when you recovered enough to be able to move again, Loki, as well, was covering his mouth with his hand. “Brutes,” you hissed at them both, covering the mark with your hand. Frigga had a small smile on her face, and there was a significant kindness behind her eyes as your face and ears became dark red and hot. “I’m sorry,” you apologized to her, and she laughed and shook her head.

“I believe it is the men that should be apologizing, especially Loki,” she said, and she raised her eyebrows at her sons, who were still snickering to themselves. “And me, as well. I should have known better than to have him present here when the issue has caused him so much irritation already.”

“Issfine,” you mumbled, receiving sharp elbows from both princes for forgetting not to talk with your mouth full. You swallowed, dipped your head back and prayed to the stars that you would somehow learn all of these new manners, and finally flashed a nervous smile towards the Allmother. “I-uh, thank you for the meal, and for wanting to talk to me outside of a court.”

“Well I’ve heard so much about you,” Frigga said, and Loki shook his head beside you, quietly whispering that he didn’t go into great lengths to talk about you. Frigga cleared her throat at Loki’s interruption, before continuing, “I’ve _inferred_ so much about you, I should say. Anyone who gains respect and admiration from both of my sons is bound to have a lot of determination.”

“You have not met anyone as determined as Ove, Mother,” Loki said beside you, but you could tell it was not just a compliment. “She would probably stab herself if someone told her it was a bad idea just to get her way.”

“She would,” Thor confirmed. “Someone told her she was bound to lose in a spar against Gosta, a very big man, and she nearly broke her nose to prove them wrong.”

“For the record, I won, bleeding nose be damned,” you remarked, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way the brothers were able to make you feel more comfortable around their mother. 

“And you were also able to gain Loki’s trust. That takes a considerable amount of effort. I should know from just how many different nurses ran off when they were told to take care of him when he was young.”

Loki had a recognizable look of embarrassment on his face as he thought his mother might continue to tell stories of his childhood, wanting anything but that. “Mother…” he warned, and beside him, Thor was laughing again. 

“She is bound to hear these stories eventually,” Frigga said, and opened her mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by Loki loudly hitting his fork up against his glass. 

“That does not mean she needs to hear them now of all times,” Loki insisted, and his mother just gave a large sigh. You watched them with interest, spotting mannerisms that the two of them shared. Apparently, both had a tendency to enjoy their dramatics. 

“Boys, finish your meals and go find your father. I’m sure he’s up in arms right now.” Frigga stood from the table and walked to your side. “And Dear, I will walk you back to your room.”

Your eyes widened at her words, and you turned your head towards Loki with concerned brows. He whispered to you that he would meet you back at the room as soon as he could, and you gave a short nod. It was fine. You could talk to the Allmother without him by your side. “I have trouble walking,” you warned her, carefully standing up. She offered you her arm, and because turning it down would be foolish in two ways, you accepted.

“I know how to heal,” she said quietly to you, already guiding you out of the room. 

“You don’t have to,” you told her, shaking your head. “I certainly don’t deserve that kindness from you.” You spared one last glance back at Loki (one that didn’t go unnoticed by Frigga), and he gave you an encouraging smile.

“But if you would let me, I insist,” she said, and you quietly nodded your head. It would mean you wouldn’t have to lean so much of your weight on her anyway, and you were certain you could trust her. You felt the moment she began to heal you, and frowned a little. It felt nothing like Loki’s magic did. It felt like Pirko was healing you, and you wondered silently if it had anything to do with the fact that Loki shared life with you as well. “A few months ago, Thor sent me a letter about a man who had taken three arrows, with little hesitation, to protect Loki, even when they had had quite the disagreement only a few days prior.”

You looked at her as she spoke, and listened to how she said every word with high regard. “I called him a snake with no worry for his comrades, and he stomped his foot on my injured shoulder in return,” you said honestly, and Frigga briefly frowned at her son’s behavior. “I deserved it, perhaps, and now I am indebted to him, so it no longer matters.”

“Indebted to him how?”

You weren’t sure you could honestly say. “Ah, he learned to heal more for me,” you answered, leaving out the information about the other magic he learned as well. “If he hadn’t, I would certainly be dead by now.”

Frigga smiled then, leaning in closer to you as you passed by a guard. “Is it true then?” 

You blinked, shook your head for a moment, and then squinted as you tried to interpret her question. “What?” You asked, before switching your question to ‘pardon?’. 

She laughed again, telling you to quit correcting your way of speaking. “Are you…” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “Are you two _involved_?” When you nodded, a large smile crossed her face, and you swore you could see tears in her eyes as she grasped your shoulders excitedly. “Oh, you have no idea how happy that truly makes me. Loki has always been a troublesome child, so to know now that there is another woman in his life to keep him in line is so wonderful.” She stopped in front of the door to your room, once again grasping your shoulders. “I promise you, I will try my best to convince my husband that you do not deserve as harsh a punishment as it would normally be for treason. I trust both of my sons with my life, and if they trust you in that same way, then my trust extends to you as well.”

You shoulders shook beneath her hands as you thanked her, and the moment she saw a hint of tears in your eyes she pulled you into her arms, her hand resting at the back of your head. You were shocked, and she let you grow used to the hug until you returned it briefly. “Thank you,” you said again, pulling away from her before she bid you a goodnight.

You stood near the door, stunned for a while, until you came to realize again that there were still guards outside your door. You looked up at the two of them, but they only spared you a glance to remind you that you were supposed to be in the room unless accompanied by someone else. So you picked up your skirt and walked into the room, closing the door behind you. Soon, you hoped, Loki would be able to meet with you again, and you wouldn’t be left with your thoughts for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for whatever reason I was still in this headspace that I had only ever reached 5000 hits or something, but I looked and saw it was over 10,000 and nearly couldn’t process it. 
> 
> I say this all the time, but I probably wouldn’t be as eager to continue this story if I didn’t know that there were people excited to read it. You all have made me a million times more passionate about writing.


	45. XLV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A consequence and a cure.

When Loki came in the room, you were reaching around your back to try and undo the laces. Apparently, needing help to get in the dresses also meant needing help to get _out_ , and all you wanted was out. You were practically screaming in frustration when he came through the door and leaned against the wall to watch rather than help. 

“Do you need help?” He asked, the corners of his lips pulled into a grin as you bent over and tried a different angle.

“No,” you huffed, grinning when you caught onto part of the ribbon. You weren’t able to pull it far enough to make any progress though, and you stomped a foot on the ground in anger. “Maybe,” you said, looking over to Loki and frowning at his expression. 

He tapped his foot on the ground and crossed his arms, making no effort to come closer to you. “Maybe?” He questioned, and you sighed as you realized where this was going. “If you ask properly, maybe I will help.”

“Loki,” you grumbled, but he didn’t budge. “You are the worst.”

“If I’m the worst, you must not want my help.”

You were going to murder him, but you were also probably going to cut off the dress with a knife if he didn’t help. “Don’t you want the dress off yourself?” You asked him, raising your eyebrows and hoping he would fall for the bait. He didn’t budge though, just shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. Will you please help me out of this damn suffocating dress?”

He laughed, but wasted no time in unlacing the back. As soon as the laces were loose, you relaxed, hardly even caring that Loki would see the bruises on your chest even with your undergarments covering them partially. “I believe you’re missing something,” he said, kissing the back of your neck.

“I am not saying thank you for being so difficult,” you said, and you felt Loki begin to lace the dress back up. You yanked yourself away from him, spinning on your heels to face him. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” you warned, and you unlaced the dress the rest of the way yourself. As soon as the dress was off, there was a knock on the door, and you looked at Loki with wide eyes. “This can’t keep happening,” you muttered, catching the nightgown when Loki threw it to you and pulling it over your head.

“The guards didn’t even see me walk in,” Loki said, and went to the far part of the room and sat himself down in one of the chairs. 

You puffed up your cheeks, knowing now that you needed to prevent whoever it was from entering your room fully, lest you wanted to _again_ look promiscuous. When you opened the door, you only opened it a few inches, tilting your head when you saw the maid from before. Her eyes widened when she saw you, and pointed to the nightgown you were wearing.

“I was just about to come help you out of the dress,” she said, and you nervously laughed. “Did someone else come?”

“Ah, no,” you said, and quickly regretted that answer. 

“Then you were able to get it off yourself?”

“Yes,” you said shortly, looking over to the discarded dress. “I injured my shoulder during the war, and I, uh, I can dislocate it still, so I was able to reach.”

The maid gave a snort in response, reaching out and tapping the lovemark that Loki left on your neck. “I won’t tell,” she whispered, side eyeing the guards before stepping away from the door. “Well, have a good night.” The knowing smirk on her face made your cheeks hot as you slowly closed the door. 

“It’s astonishing that that was the best lie you could come up with after you hid your identity for months from a large group of people,” Loki remarked dryly, and you narrowed your eyes.

“I swear I will murder you for leaving such a visible bruise,” you said, contemplating whether you wanted to walk over to him. “Maybe you should leave for the night,” you suggested, frowning as soon as he did. “Only because if you leave any later, people may talk more.”

When Loki came up to you again, he hugged you tightly. “Is it Odin’s words that are bothering you so much?” 

“His and Lady Sif’s, unfortunately,” you grumbled into his chest. “Everything in here is just a reminder of how different I am to everyone else here in the palace. And I have told myself before that it does not matter because you do not care about it, but that reminder is no longer working, it seems.”

“When the time comes for people to understand you, they will be less inclined to pass judgements. How was talking with my mother?”

At the mention of Lady Frigga, your grip on him loosened. “The difference between her and King Asshole is stark,” you said. “I like her, though. She seems very kind.”

Loki nodded. “And she is, but not to those who don’t deserve it,” he said, kissing you on the forehead one last time. “I will leave though. I do agree that people will talk more if I cannot be found in my own room.” His hand gripped the knob before he spoke again, “If you need me, you know you can call me now.” He tapped his forehead with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

By the time you collapsed on the bed, you hardly even had the energy to pull the covers up around you. You did so anyway, sinking yourself further into the comforts of silk that you had never had the opportunity to feel before. If Loki were beside you, you thought that then it would be even better. No matter how many times he reassured you, you were certain that this was a life you were never meant to live. You had one too many calluses on your fingers and far too much of a history with violence. Even if Thor was overly familiar with war himself, he was still raised in this environment. You were not. You were raised like a normal child, up until you went to live alone. And then you were stuck living in random inns, and getting kicked out once they realized you had no intention of paying.

Being here was odd, and although you were welcomed by Frigga with open arms, invisible shackles still stayed locked around your wrists and ankles because of the guards outside of the room, and Odin’s disapproving words. You were still a criminal for now, no matter who treated you kindly. Then, there was the wonder of what Bjarke and Asger were perhaps up to right now. You wondered what rooms they were staying in, or if perhaps they were staying in an inn somewhere else in the capital. Soldiers were ordered to stay in the capital for the next few days, for your trial and for Fritjof’s. An ache in your heart screamed that you missed them, making a point of saying that you would not be alone in a room regularly. Since Loki’s first irritating orders that no one could sleep alone, you had grown comforted by your comrades even when you had nightmares. Now you were in a room alone again, and you were vastly unnerved. 

By the time you finally fell asleep, your mind was not taking pity on you.

_“Would anyone stand in the defense of Ove on account of her treason?”_

_You tried not to look around the courtroom, your fingers tightly wrapped around the bottom of your shirt as you tried to stay composed even under all of the pressure. Only when someone spoke, did you turn your head to look at them. Asger and Bjarke stood at their seats, and your lips spread into a grin until they continued their words._

_“She is entirely guilty of treason and another attempt. She almost killed Fritjof, so she deserves to die herself,” Bjarke spoke, and your stomach sunk to your feet._

_Another stood in the crowd, and your mouth fell open as you looked upon your mother, standing there with a young girl wrapped up in her arms. “Execute her. We knew from the moment her brother died that she was a monster anyway.”_

_“Mom,” you whispered, taking a fumbling step backwards as she dropped the child from her arms, and it rolled to your feet. It was you, as a child. Her dead eyes stared right through you, blood pouring from her nose and ears. Bile rose into your throat as the faces around you stretched into wide, toothy grins, and claws wrapped around your arms as you were declared fully guilty._

_“You deserve this, love,” Loki whispered, his hands wrapped around your throat._

A scream of agony woke you, elbows and knees knocking against the marble floors as you untangled yourself from the sheets. Your throat burned, and your fingers rubbed against it in hopes the bruises left from Fritjof’s hands would disappear just like that. Underneath your jaw you felt the mark that Loki had left, but because of your dream it only felt like it was left by hatred rather than by love. 

As you tried to pick yourself up from the floor, a shout left you again when there was a banging on your door, and the sound of voices behind it. _Leave, leave, leave_. Your trial wasn’t yet, you weren’t guilty yet. The soldiers tasked with guarding your room came into it then, and you screamed for them to leave again. Their hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling you up off of the floor and pinning you down to the bed where they thought you wouldn’t be able to hurt yourself or them. 

“Calm down,” the one told you in between your screams for them to get off of you, but you swore that he had teeth as sharp as the ones in your dream. 

Your chest heaved as their grips on your wrists began to hurt and their faces contorted more as your tears blocked your vision. 

“Let _go of me_!” Your scream pierced their ears, and one let go of your wrist to head back towards the door. Before your fist could come in contact with the remaining soldier’s jaw, he grabbed it, pressing it back down into the silk sheets that felt more like barbed wire now.

The one man’s eyes looked between you and the door, before he shuffled out of the room to elsewhere. You were able to kick the remaining soldier between the legs, and he hissed at you to calm down. As he brought a leg up onto the bed to pin your legs down as well, you were anything but calm. Breathing took more effort as you choked on your own screams, your mind racing with Fritjof’s threats and taunts of what being a woman was worth to him. What being a woman entitled his men to. 

“Get off, get off, get off!” His teeth made your shouts louder. “ _Please_ don’t! Please—!”

He was telling you to calm down again, but you couldn’t hear him, still fighting against his grip. The other soldier entered the room again, saying something about a nurse, but his appearance spiked more adrenaline and anxiety in you. 

“ _Stop! Please stop!_ ” You begged, your mouth bleeding from where you tore into your gums with your teeth. 

The other soldier neared the bed again, and your breath caught in your chest. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t—

“Breathe, Love, breathe,” Loki said, and hands were pulled from your wrists and weight was lifted off of your body. You scrambled into a sit, heaving as Loki took your face in his hands. “You’re alright,” he told you, and your head shook frantically, your wide eyes still darting between the two soldiers. 

“Get _out_ ,” Loki ordered them. 

“A nurse—.”

“Send her away, too,” Loki said, his gaze fixed on them until they hurried out of the room and closed the door behind them. When they were gone, you covered your mouth with your hands, suffocating your cries until Loki gently took them away from your face. “They’re gone, and I promise they won’t come back in.”

“I thought—I thought—scared.” You couldn’t find the words to describe what you thought, because you looked at him and wondered if he would find you crazy for it. 

“It was a nightmare, wasn’t it?” He asked, completely calm as he smoothed his hands through your hair and wiped away tears as they fell. 

“Yes,” you breathed, holding his hands to your face. 

“And those assholes didn’t make it any better, right?”

“Worse,” you answered, beginning to calm as his hands moved through your hair repeatedly. “I thought…” You still couldn’t say it. “Fritjof’s words.”

You didn’t need to say it all for Loki to understand, and you looked away when you saw the anger grow on his face. It was short lived though, as he was more concerned for you than he was angry at the guards and at Fritjof. He whispered again that it was okay as he rested your forehead against his chest. 

“How did you know?” You asked. You couldn’t remember calling out to him at any point. Or were your screams so loud that he had heard you?

He replied, “You kept saying ‘leave’, and I wasn’t sure if you were just dreaming or if you were awake. I would have been here sooner if I just didn’t think about it.”

You shook your head, murmuring that it was fine. He was here now, and so it didn’t matter. “I couldn’t think. I didn’t even try to call you,” you explained, voice still shaking. You breathed in deeply, shaking your head again. “Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more broken.”

He pulled away then, holding your face so that you would look at him. “You are capable of much more than most. Besides, haven’t we already decided that we are both a little broken? Still, I should not have left the room in the first place. I should have known that the added stress of the palace wouldn’t be good for your dreams.”

“How loud was I?”

Loki frowned. “Loud enough,” was his response, and you pulled him down to the bed so that you could nestle in as close as possible. “Only those on this wing would have heard you, and they won’t pay much mind.” 

His assurance didn’t do much to relieve you of your worries. Word would travel fast amongst the workers, especially since the one soldier had gone to get a nurse. She would probably be telling everyone of what happened.

“They’ll think me mad.”

Loki shook his head. “They should know what you have been through,” he said, and he squeezed you a little tighter to him. You clung to him as tightly as your muscles would allow, and he whispered that he loved you. 

“I love you too,” you said, sniffling. “A lot. An immeasurable amount.”

When you laid with him like this, you loved the way you could feel his heartbeat quicken whenever you said that you loved him. You found his hand and lined the pads of your fingers up with his, and he let you push and prod at them, knowing it was your own way of calming yourself down, just like when you traced the patterns and seams on his clothing. Eventually, he gently took your hand, holding up your palm for him to see as his index finger ran along the lines.

“My mother used to enjoy palm reading, though I am not sure if she ever truly believed in it,” he said. “Your heart line ends near the Mount of Jupiter, so, presumably, you are loving, and have high expectations.” As he spoke, he laughed at your scrutinizing gaze. “Don’t believe it?”

“My hands are covered in calluses. Wouldn’t that affect the reading?”

He shook his head, kissing your knuckles. “So you don’t love me? Because the reading said your love for me is pure, but if it is _not_ —” He laughed as you pushed your lips against the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m just skeptical that you didn’t make all of that up on the spot,” you whispered, laughing as his fingers ran rampant along your stomach. 

“How rude of you to accuse me of such a thing,” he said, grinning now that you were out of breath from laughs instead of from tears. “Beautiful,” he whispered, locking his lips with yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for any typos. I wrote this while tired and then edited it while tired. 
> 
> But, if it peaks your interest, the next chapter is purely smut, which I never thought I’d write before (but here we are anyway). 
> 
> Thank you so so much for all of the sweet comments you all leave! I’m sure I sound like a broken record now but I really do appreciate you all for sticking around for this story.


	46. XlVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really just smut, and you will miss nothing important if you don’t wish to read it.

When you pulled apart, you were still breathless. “Loki,” you whispered, and he waited patiently for you to continue to speak. Your finger trailed up his arm, trying to find the way to phrase it. “Would you…?” You swallowed. “Would you make love to me?” 

“Would you wish me to?” He asked, hovering above you. You nodded. “I would do _anything_ you wished.”

You pulled on his earlobe, and he raised an eyebrow. “But do _you_ wish to, Loki?” The bashful look on your face brought a small amount of heat even to Loki’s face. 

“Surely I have been doing a poor job of expressing my love for you if you have to ask such a thing,” he replied, and before you could apologize he was kissing you again, and you could feel every bit of earnest and _want_ in it. “I wish to, and have wished to, but I also wished for you to be entirely ready.”

You smiled, gaining back your confidence at his words. “I am not unexperienced, you know,” you said, and Loki laughed.

“With the way you kissed me for the first time, I have not doubted that.” His gaze softened as he pushed a piece of hair out of your face. “But I also intend on making you forget about prior experiences,” he promised, kneeling back as his hands pushed your nightgown up to your waist. 

“I have never been in love with them,” you said honestly, closing your eyes when his thumbs rubbed circles over your hips. “So now is still a first.” A knuckle brushed between your legs, sending a shiver down your spine. Again, he rubbed between your legs, and you moaned and pulled your nightgown over your head, annoyed with the fabric that stood between your skin and his. 

“A first for me too, then,” he said, and he kissed you again. As his lips moved against yours his hands undid the clasp of your bra, and you made note of how he struggled with it less than even you do. With your bra discarded, his hands moved up your sides, expertly avoiding bruises and cuts in a way that made you forget they even existed. He bit your bottom lip and his hands cupped your breasts, healing the bruising so that you would feel only pleasure. “Tell me if anything hurts, please,” Loki whispered, kissing your jaw.

His thumbs rolled over your nipples, and your back arched off the bed as you whimpered under his touch. How could a touch like that possibly hurt? 

“Oh _Stars_ , Loki,” you moaned, rubbing your legs together impatiently. You reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt, Loki still trailing his fingers along your breasts. You pushed the shirt off of his shoulders, and he took it off the rest of the way. Your fingers tucked underneath the waistband of his pants, but he stopped you and shook his head. “What?” You asked, puffing up your cheeks as he pushed your hands away. 

He chuckled at your expression. “Let me take care of you first,” he said, and you gave him a small smirk of approval, despite wishing his pants were off as well. He leaned down, leaving kisses and teasing bites along your inner thigh. When you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him, he smirked, and skipped entirely over the place you longed most for him to kiss.

“Devil,” you murmured as he kissed back down your other thigh. You could tell that he was close to laughing at your remark, feeling his smile against your skin. But he kept his composure, looking back up at you as he pressed a finger along your mound, watching as your mouth fell open and your head dipped back. “Stop teasing so mu–ah,” your words were cut off with a moan as his finger slipped under your panties and teased your clit. 

As soon as the pressure was there, it was gone, and Loki sat back on his knees just to watch the frustration grow on your face. His hands held your knees apart so that you couldn’t gain any of the friction you wanted. You knew where he was going with this, recognizing the smirk on his face from before when you needed help out of the gown. 

_Just ask_ , he told you, and your will to be stubborn was fading quickly. 

“ _Please_ , Loki,” you purred, watching the brief expression of surprise that crossed his face at how easily you succumbed to his antics. “Please make me come.”

“I can do that,” Loki answered, but still his pace was slow as he pulled your panties off from you. He slid his finger up your slit, thumb again brushing over your clit just so that he could hear you whimper under his touch again. “You are so gorgeous,” he whispered, and you blushed under his lustful gaze. 

You groaned in surprise as a finger entered you, bucking your hips to encourage him to move more. Slowly, he pumped his finger in and out of you, content with simply watching your chest rise and fall as he did so. When he slid a second finger in, you covered your mouth with your hands, knowing you would be too vocal and that the guards outside the door would surely be able to hear. Loki’s free hand traveled back up to your breasts, cupping and squeezing and rolling them between his fingers as he increased his pace. You dropped a hand to your side so that you could grip the bed sheets, and bit down on your other when a third finger was pushed inside. 

“They won’t hear you, I promise,” your prince told you, coaxing your hand from your mouth so that he could hear the full extent of your moans. 

“Loki,” you groaned, in complete bliss as his thumb rolled over your clit and his pace quickened. Your back arched off the bed, your breathing growing faster the more his fingers pumped in and out of you. “Please, oh stars, please, Loki!” 

Pressure built inside of you, your knuckles growing white from how tightly you gripped the sheets. Your orgasm racked your whole body, nearly causing you to scream with pleasure as Loki slowed his pace and drew the full extent of it out of you. When he withdrew his fingers, he licked your cum off of them slowly, watching with an impish smirk as your face turned bright red.

“By the gods, that’s sinful,” you muttered, pushing yourself up into a sit and pressing your chest against his. “Silvertongue,” you called him, hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him, guiding him down onto his back. You straddled him, and rolled your hips over his bulge, coaxing a groan out of him. Your hands tugged at the waist of his pants, and you moved off of him so that he could pull them the rest of the way off. 

“Benefits of being part frost giant?” You asked as your eyes trailed to his cock with a lustful gaze. He chuckled, but you cut him off when your hand wrapped around the base and rubbed up. He hissed in pleasure, and you thought to yourself that this must have been the same satisfaction he felt when he was making his fingers wet with your slick. You pumped your hand down the length of your cock, raising an eyebrow as he reached out and grabbed your wrist. 

He returned the look, before pushing you down and assuming his initial position on top of you. “Did you _want_ the fun to end so soon?” He asked, preventing your hands from reaching for his length again. “I thought you asked me to make love to you.”

You nodded, bucking your hips up into his just to watch him tilt his head back again. “I did,” you confirmed. “I just wanted to hear you.”

“You’ll hear me plenty soon,” he said, and he rubbed the head of his cock against your entrance. Again, you bit down on your hand as he pushed into you, closing your eyes until you felt him stop moving. “Tell me when you’re ready.” A finger moved to rub against your clit again, and you groaned. 

“It’s fine,” you answered him, and he slid the rest of the way in. “More than fine,” you corrected yourself, more noises escaping you as he slowly rocked himself in and out of you. His pace was agonizingly slow as his lips and teeth left claims across your shoulders and collarbones, and he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked in. You were in absolute bliss, your nails scratching against his back as you rocked your hips up into his, encouraging him to increase his pace, and he answered. Yes, he answered, and his grunts increased in their frequency as he thrust into you. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, and you wished he would talk to you like that all of the time. He could probably drive you to cum again just through the way words like that left his mouth. 

The way his hands held your hips was almost painful, and yet you wished you could feel the more often, as well. His fingers digging into your flesh proved his want for you, just as the scratches on his back proved your want for him. Again, you felt pressure coil up inside of you, and Loki let out a mix between a groan and a growl as you clenched around him. 

“Stars, _fuck_ me,” you cursed, and his balls slapped against your ass as he rammed into you, so close to orgasm himself. You broke first, a second orgasm rippling through you with more intensity than the first, and Loki’s hand came up to cover your mouth when he realized you were perhaps being a bit too loud. The rest of the wing most definitely heard you that time around. 

“That’s it, Love,” he spoke, barely getting the words out in between his own grunts. He lifted your right leg, angling himself differently as he increased his pace. 

In a few moments more, he paused, holding his hips against yours as his cum shot into you. Slowly, he rocked his hips in again, and you felt his body shudder against you as the rest entered you as well. When he pulled himself from you, that sinful gaze was back on his face as he watched both his cum and yours drip from you. Before you had even fully recovered, he was pulling you back towards him, and his tongue licked the length of your cunt until you pushed his head back with your hands.

“Loki,” you breathed, hot from how devilish he appeared when he looked at you with such a hooded gaze. “You’re _insatiable._ I don’t think I can take much more of that,” you said honestly, still breathless from the second orgasm he drew out of you. 

He hummed, but he relented. “You just taste so delectable,” he purred, kissing your neck and falling into position beside you. 

“Another time,” you promised him with a laugh, your eyes falling shut when he whispered that he loved you again. It was foolish, but you couldn’t help the small tears that fell down your face as you listened to him speak those words.

Loki lifted his face from your neck, eyes widening when he saw you were crying. “Is something wrong?” He asked, nothing but concern lacing his features now.

You shook your head. “Everything is _right_ ,” you replied, curling a strand of black hair around your finger. “It’s probably because I’m tired and still feeling euphoric that I’ve started crying. I just...Thank you, Loki, for loving me.”

He smiled again, wrapping you entirely in his arms. “I never thought I would make a woman cry after such a session,” he joked, before continuing. “or that I would receive such a thank you from anyone. There is no need for thanks, my love. You thank me plenty through loving me in return.”

“It would be so easy to never talk to anyone but you,” you murmured.

“You’d regret that eventually.”

You snorted at the blunt comment, turning your head to look at him to assess the seriousness of it. You were worried about the nature of the comment, but when you saw the smile on his face still when he looked back at you, you quickly realized he was only jesting. “I _would_ miss Bjarke, Asger, and Halvor,” you relented.

“I’d prefer if you only missed Halvor,” he said, his fingers tracing around small scars. 

“Shut up, Loki. I’d only miss them because they’ve become my brothers,” you huffed, and his laughter prevented you from keeping a straight face. “Snake.”

“ _Idiot_ ,” he said quickly, and your hands clasped over his mouth to stop him from laughing any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this was a good time to write this chapter because I haven’t had much time for anything at all this week.
> 
> Also, there’s no way I was writing this without having at least a little bit of their snark involved. 
> 
> I hope it was okay. I’m an incredibly bashful person about stuff like this so even posting this is awkward to me. I’m telling you right now that you probably won’t be getting more out of me for a while haha.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for the comments, kudos, and support!


	47. XLVII

Loki was smiling in his sleep, which is something you had never thought you would see. Your head still rested on the pillow next to his, your legs still tangled with his as he slept on his side. He looked completely in bliss, and you held your breaths in just in case they would wake him. He was a picture of serenity, despite his tangled, bedridden hair, and you smirked to yourself with pride that you were the cause of that mess. You were the cause of the marks on his collarbones, too, and that only made your smirk wider, despite knowing that you were covered in them as well. The light that crept in from the windows highlighted the highest points of his face, and you tried to commit every detail, every little speck and freckle on his face, to memory. 

“Staring?” 

“You didn’t even open your eyes, how would you know,” you muttered, startled by how abruptly he seemed to wake, without even a shift in his movements. 

“Just a guess,” he answered, pecking your cheek before he grabbed a tight hold of you and rolled onto his back. 

“A conceited guess,” was your retort, which was promptly cut off by your giggles as he blew air against your neck. “You’ve become awfully childish as of late, Loki,” you noted, rolling away from him to sit up and grab your discarded nightgown. 

“It makes you laugh, does it not?” He asked and you pulled the nightgown over your head as you nodded. “And I love that sound,” he added, stunning you into a momentary silence as you turned around to look at him again.

Not once last night did he ever make you feel inadequate. He didn’t mention your scars, or your bruises, or the cuts that haven’t yet been healed, or the bandages still left on your arms and around your ankles. None of that bothered him, and so it did not bother you, for once, either. He was a stark difference between a man you laid with once before. That man had been charming, and sweet, and not once did he insult you until _after_ he had gotten you into his bed. He had called you easy then, and confessed that he thought you were kind of ugly. _Too brash_. And you had left him with a broken jaw and two missing teeth as a thank you for the kind words. 

Perhaps you had been foolish then. You hadn’t known the man for long, anyway. You had just trained with him, and he had offered you food when he found you asleep on a stack of hay. You weren’t in love with him. You just liked the idea of someone caring about you, and it had proved then not to be worth it. 

For a long time, you kept thinking it wasn’t. It wasn’t worth it to show people who you were, let alone care for them. You used to think that the moment you did was the moment they would realize you weren’t worth much at all. 

But now it was worth the years of frustration it all caused, because Loki truly cared, and you didn’t love the idea of Loki; you loved him. You loved the way he spoke, the way he could taunt you with his words and raise both your anger and your passion at once, and you loved the way he had opened up to you, showing his flaws and expressing his fears so that you knew that he, too, was vulnerable behind all of his stoic appearances. You _loved_ that vulnerability; that crack in his facade that revealed he was more than just a prince, more than just a god. You could tell that when he spoke of wishing to do anything he could for you, he meant it. He was not a man of empty promises, and while he looked out for himself and his own endeavors, he molded them to include you. His words were from time to time harsh, but only to express his fear of losing you to your rash behavior. He had meant it too when he said he would never make you think of yourself as broken. Not once throughout the night were you reminded of the carving on your back, and he ensured your complete comfort. 

Finally, you responded to him, “It feels good.” 

“Living feels good,” you elaborated, but slowly your smile turned into a frown as you recognized what you would have to face today. “The guards...Do you think they will mention it?”

Loki sat up then, dressing himself and shaking his head. “They should apologize,” he said, and his fingers were doing that thing where they would twitch in irritation. 

“An apology will hardly matter,” you huffed, patting your cheeks with your hands and telling yourself to get it together. If you had another outburst like that, they’d probably call you insane, pushing the reasoning that you should be in a cell. “Maybe they’ll be less inclined to mock me now that they know for certain we are together.”

Loki scoffed, and immediately you knew what his response would be. “I am not liked. If anything they will be _more_ inclined to mock you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Perhaps I should have fallen for your brother instead,” you joked, watching as he faked a laugh through his glare. 

“If they say anything, they won’t be able to speak for much longer.”

You grinned. “Your way of affection is quite bizarre sometimes,” you teased, standing up off of the bed to find a pair of pants and a shirt to change into. 

The moment you found the clothes you were looking for, Loki’s arms were back around your waist, attempting to pull you back into the bed. “I threaten people, and you bite and scratch,” he said, and heat rose to your face. “Seems we both have odd ways of showing affection.”

You tugged yourself out of his grip, hands on your hips as you faced him again. “And you _don’t_ bite?” You asked him, pulling down your collar to give him a look at one of the marks he left on you. 

He didn’t respond, but by looking at him you could tell how proud the bastard was of himself. He was entirely smitten with it all, and your fingers left the collar to return back to its original place around your neck just so that he couldn’t keep staring at it. 

“To keep you from gloating,” you began, pulling on the pants and momentarily grumbling about the tightness of them, “why don’t you tell me what the plan for today is? When am I supposed to go on trial, officially?”

He made it so easy for you to regret asking, as any trace of happiness was wiped from his face in a heartbeat. “You should spend time healing today,” he replied, watching with remorse as you groaned at the thought of having to stay in a room full of nurses for the day. “Trials at the capital, when involving warriors, sometimes include a fight as well. If anyone does decide that you are guilty, they are eligible to propose a battle that goes either until yield or to death.”

“Of either opponent?” You asked, and he nodded. “Am I allowed to yield?”

“Yes, but if you do yield you will most likely be sentenced no matter what. Make the opponent yield instead, or kill them, if you have to.”

Your face was twisted in thought as you pulled on your shirt. You couldn’t call yourself safe in this situation. The people who would claim you guilty of treason were those you didn’t know if you could fight in your current situation. Fiske, perhaps, but what if a sorcerer chose you guilty? What if Nevin chose you guilty? Your tongue felt thick in your mouth, and Loki shifted on his feet, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

“Magic can’t be used against you,” he said, but his eyebrows were knit in a way that told you there was more to be said. You urged it out of him, with a simple, stern calling of his name. “Magic can’t be used against you _unless_ they decide that me healing you has given you an equal advantage.”

Your mouth fell open, your hands flinging out to your sides in exasperation. “How is it an equal advantage?” You asked, knowing that he didn’t have an answer to that. “You haven’t given me any powers. I possess no magic besides telepathy, and even then, it is shotty at best. Your magic that courses through me does me no good besides keeping me alive. That is nothing compared to the capabilities a trained sorcerer holds!”

Loki said your name this time, in the same stern tone you had said his, and your mouth shut with a click of your teeth. “We do not know if a sorcerer will choose to fight you. We do not know if anyone will.”

“Someone will,” you whispered, with such certainty that Loki was left not knowing how to respond. “Right, so, I spend my day with the nurses again? So they can see the bruises left by you?”

That brought a smirk back out from him, and you grinned a little. “Ask them to leave those,” he said, and you shook your head. 

“No, I think I’d rather them heal them all so that you can replace them another time.” You pulled your boots on, pleased that for the day you would be allowed to wear anything other than a dress, and hopefully, you would be released from the burden of having to dine with Loki’s family again. “Do you have somewhere to be?” 

“If you wish me to leave, then I can find somewhere,” Loki answered, and you moved to open the door. 

“You know that’s not what I was asking,” you huffed, and before you could open the door Loki stopped you.

“You don’t need to extend your gaze towards either of them,” he whispered, and you gave a short nod before following him out, remaining closely on his heels.

As much as you wanted to listen to Loki’s words, it was instinct for you to glance back at the guards, who turned their heads quickly to each other and away from you. Loki’s hand wrapped around your waist then, and he increased his pace until you both reached the end of the hall. When you turned the corner, your lips were pulled into a tight frown.

“Normally this would not bother you this much,” your prince reminded you, and you grumbled that you knew he was right. 

“It’s this goddamn shitty palace,” you cursed, scuffing your boot across the pristine floors. “I feel like I have to be perfect in here. Everything I do is being scrutinized. I’ve been around no one but filthy, war-driven men since I went on my own, and no matter how many times I’m reminded of my manners, I’m not sure they’ll ever be up to par. Between that and my psychotic behavior, I’m sure I’m a real favorite around here.”

“Absolutely,” a familiar voice said, and you whipped your head around to look at the woman. “You are the real talk of the palace, Ove. I think between your trial and last night, everyone has heard rumors about you.”

Loki stiffened, and you waved off his worried look. “And?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “Do you have anything of worth to say, Sif? Or would you prefer to keep telling me what I know already?”

Lady Sif smiled at you then, and it wasn’t fake. “I was actually just about to grab you from your room in case you needed to be led back to the infirmary, however, I should have known that Loki would have beat me to that.”

“Address me by my title, Lady Sif,” Loki said stiffly.

“Next time,” Sif responded evenly, glancing back to you and nodding with her head in the direction of the infirmary.

“I’ll catch up,” you told her, and watched as she walked back to the infirmary on her own, her confident stride not once slipping. “I take it you two don’t get along?” You asked, Loki still brimming with irritation.

“We have a...history.” Your face blanched at the words, even though you knew Loki had past lovers. You just never thought one to be Lady Sif. “Not in that way,” he corrected himself, and you snorted indignantly as you waited for him to continue. “She loves Thor, and as a prank, if you would call it that, when I was younger I cut off her hair. It used to be gold in color, and when I tried to correct the cut, the dwarves I had hired made her hair black. I wouldn’t pay them enough to make it gold again.”

You stared at him for a moment, unblinking, as you tried to process the story he just told. There were many times that he had told you stories about his mischief, but this one seemed the most bizarre of the bunch, especially because his dislike towards her apparently remained past their childhood. “I cannot figure her out,” you told him honestly, and he nodded in understanding.

“Oh, no one can besides my brother,” he reassured you. There was something more he wanted to say, and you stared up at him as his eyes traveled away from your own. You stood silently, allowing him to gather his words for whatever it was he was struggling to tell you. You didn’t want to press him on the matter this time, knowing that whatever he was trying to say was something for your own good. Even if you wouldn’t like it. “Do not talk to her too much. Or anyone too much. Not until your trial is over, and perhaps not even then. Lady Sif can be convincing, but do not let her gain any information from you. She is undyingly loyal to the throne, and is merely feigning kindness for my brother’s sake.”

When you glanced back down the hall, Lady Sif had already made her way into the infirmary, surely waiting for you as Loki alluded to. “I know I have quite the large mouth, but I do believe I am capable of shutting up for now,” you said, in good humor just to see the worried look on Loki’s face leave for a brief moment. “I will not let her get under my skin. That is reserved for you and you only.” Again, the comments to draw out a smile from Loki. You succeeded this time, and for longer than the last. If your words had not been enough to ease him, the proud grin on your face afterwards was. 

“Prince Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief, Silvertongue, Trickster, My Love, trust me,” you said, and with each listing of his titles his own grin appeared, especially at the last one. 

“Absolutely, my beautiful Goddess of Pride,” he breathed, and you kissed him before entering the infirmary yourself. When you entered, you wasted no time as you pulled off your shirt so that the nurses could heal you.

One raised her eyebrows at you, aware of the change in your behavior since yesterday, but you ignored the look and sat down on the bed. Lady Sif was looking at you too, confused and unaware that Loki’s simple words of adoration could increase your confidence in such a way, at least for the time being. The marks riddled along your collarbones helped as well, as now there were bruises of both love and of war, and some you took great pride in. People knew of your relationship with Loki, especially of word of last night had traveled so quickly. Loki had come to be by your side after your nightmares, had shunned away the guards, and stayed the night to comfort you. None of that could be kept secret, especially since he had taken no time to heal the proof of it all. 

“May I ask a favor?” 

The head nurse turned to look at you, before giving a slight nod. “What would that be, Lady Ove?”

You didn’t let her way of addressing you bother you this time around, even though you much preferred to just be called by Ove, without the formalities. “Keep this one,” you said, fingers pointing to the bite you had shown Loki before. The nurse’s cheeks turned a dark red, and you swore she rolled her eyes at you the moment she thought you weren’t looking anymore. When you turned your attention back to Sif, she was still stiff in shock at the brash behavior. “Lady Sif,” you spoke, shaking her from her stupor, “it might interest you to know that I am referred to as the Goddess of Pride by my prince.”

It took only a second for her to understand what it was you meant, and her jaw clicked together tightly. You would not allow yourself to be messed with, even in a palace that made you incredibly uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I may or may not have made a part of Ove’s trial slightly obvious, but you still don’t know the real kicker of it all. ;)
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading! I’ve been nearly on the verge of tears everytime I remember how close we are to 1000 kudos. I will most definitely cry.


	48. XLVIII

Oddly, you felt that you could cry. If not because of Loki’s actions, then because of the trial that was to take place in only a few moments. All night, you had confessed to Loki your worries. You did not know if your parents would be at the trial, or if enough people would stand by your side rather than Odin’s. You even briefly confided in him that you did not know if Asger or Bjarke would defend you anymore, since you had lied to them for so long. Eventually, he had pressed his hand against your forehead and forced you to sleep. When you woke in the morning, you could hardly find the will to be angry. He had pressed that you needed the rest. Without it, you were likely to falter in front of the Allfather and slip up your movements if you were to fight. 

Now, Loki was grabbing a dagger from its sheath, and your eyes widened as he cut a lock of his hair from the back of his head.

“Loki!” You squeaked, grabbing his wrist that held his hair. “That’s too grand a gesture,” you told him, but he discarded your worries with a roll of his eyes.

He shifted to sit behind you, and even while you muttered that it was unnecessary, he sectioned a piece of your own hair. “I would have done this much sooner, but that would have more easily given our relationship away,” he explained, braiding his hair into yours. The moment he was done, your fingers wrapped around the braid, feeling his locks intertwined with yours. “No matter what happens today, my goddess, you have me to rely on. I will let _nothing_ bring harm to you.”

You turned to kiss him, and while you did you grabbed his dagger from his hands. Loki was watching you with such adoration in his eyes that you blushed as you cut a piece of your own hair. He turned his back towards you as you made your own braid in his hair. “And you, my god, have me to rely on as well,” you said, kissing his cheek.

Your brief moment of bliss was interrupted by the knock on the door that you had been hoping would never arrive. Loki had explained that he could not walk with you to the court, because you would have to be escorted by guards, and so you stood on your own. You cast a forlorn look his way, and he tried to give you a reassuring smile. “I will be just on the side of my mother, Love. You need not worry. You have my most sacred promise of protection.”

Your shoulders drooped with remorse that you would have to leave his side. “I love you.”

“I love you too, but go before you give the Allfather more cause to imprison you.”

The guards waiting on the outside of the door were not the ones who forcefully entered your room, and for that, you let out a sigh of relief. You did not know how you would be able to bear walking to the court with those men by your side. “I am unarmed,” you told them, raising your hands so that they could see you weren’t holding anything dangerous. “I would just like to go to court as peacefully as possible,” you clarified, noting their suspicious gazes. However, neither of them said anything more, and rather than have to tug on your arms, you were the first to begin walking. 

You had almost hoped the walk would seem long, because then you would have more time to think, but it was unfortunately short. Before you entered the room, one of the guards tapped your shoulder to get your attention. 

“You can enter without us,” he said, and you raised your eyebrows in surprise. Loki had said you were supposed to be escorted in. “If you do so peacefully, you may present yourself in a manner that wins favor.”

You smiled then, nodding your head in thanks to the guards who decided you were worth treating kindly. “I appreciate that,” you told them both, and they let you gather yourself a moment more until they pushed the large doors open. You didn’t glance at anyone during the short walk up to the thrones. You feared that if you did, you would be far too overwhelmed with emotions. Part of you even wished no one familiar would fall in your line of sight, just so that you could focus entirely on the Allfather’s questions. 

Speaking of whom, he sat in the middle, already a displeased look on his face. You weren’t late; he just seemed to mind your presence no matter what you did. On his left was Frigga, graciously smiling down at you with a secret pride. You spared a glance towards Loki, and you could tell he was trying to restrain his emotions. He looked irritated, perhaps because of a conversation you were not around for, but his lips twitched into a brief smile when he saw you looking his way. 

_Promise_ , he said in your mind, and you had to look away from him and to Thor to prevent yourself from giving away the small secret. Thor seemed unsure, sitting in his throne with a level of discomfort that kept him just on edge, but he gave you a firm nod of acknowledgement. When you stopped walking, you forced yourself onto one knee, bowing your head in respect towards the royal family. The day of healing helped you greatly, as every nurse capable of healing magic had worked their best to ensure you would be able to withstand the tribulations of trial.

“Speak your name, and your cause for being here,” Odin spoke, his booming voice rising you back into a stand. 

You did. You spoke your name aloud for the first time in years, your gut rolling with a violent discomfort because of it. “I am here on trial for treason, my king,” you answered, every instinct inside of you wishing to call him how you saw him, but that would only get you killed for poor manners and too sharp a tongue. 

“How did you commit treason?” 

Loki was absolutely correct when he spoke of what trial at the capital was like. It was inconceivably repetitive. Everyone here knew why you were on trial, and how you commit treason. Speaking it aloud was just to see if you would feel guilty for your actions. 

“I disguised myself as a man when it was said that women would be barred from fighting in the war against Fritjof.”

“Not _said_ , announced. Put in writing,” Odin corrected you, and briefly, you frowned, before apologizing for your misworded response. It was what he wanted to hear. “Why?”

“Fritjof murdered my brother,” you replied, knowing you would have to elaborate it all to make your story worth treason. “My village was the first attacked by Fritjof and his army, and my brother and I were home alone, hiding underneath the dining room table when our door was broken down and the barbarians destroyed everything around us. My crying incorrigible, and Fritjof heard us. In an attempt to save my life, my brother leapt in front of me, and Fritjof cut his head from his shoulders, but left me alive, because he said my screaming was _pleasant_.” 

You couldn’t help but grind your teeth as you spoke. It was the only thing preventing you from getting lost in the memories. “I held my brother’s head in my hands until my parents pried me away, and the moment I could, I began training. So much so that I sprout a seed of hatred for me in my parents, because they believed I couldn’t see past my fury. I wanted Fritjof dead, and I wanted to be the one to kill him. But when you pronounced it illegal for women to fight, that opportunity was being ripped from me. So I bound my chest and beat every man I had to in training until I was accepted under Prince Thor’s command.”

Odin was unimpressed with your story, though Frigga had sympathy in her eyes. The duality of the two didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Do you truly believe that your brother’s murder is cause enough for you to be relinquished of the punishment for treason?” That damn patronizing tone he spoke to you with. It made a growl rise up in the back of your throat.

“No, my king,” you said, and he leaned forward in interest. “My actions under Prince Thor’s command, however, should be noted. I am not weak, despite my earlier state when first arriving at the palace. I took down a large amount of barbarians by myself, and was willing to push myself to complete exhaustion if it meant our army would progress. My actions saved your son from being blindsided by a barrage of arrows, and _my_ actions are what Fritjof to ultimately be captured in the end.”

The Allfather laughed at that, unsure how you alone could spur such a triumph, so you went to clarify: “Fritjof has a hatred of women, and he knew I was a woman before many of my comrades. I was an entertaining target for him, because I am exactly what he loathes. I am not powerless; I am loud and brash and do not let things get in the way of my goals. He hates that. If I were a man, he would have killed me when he had the chance, but because I was a woman, he sought to torture me instead, to put me in the place he thought I should be. I angered him, and he grew reckless. Had he not tortured me for so long, had he _killed_ me earlier, he would not have been distracted enough in his power hungry delusions to be captured.”

“You certainly attribute a high amount of praise to yourself.”

It took everything in you to not laugh at that statement. Loki would scold you for what you were about to say. “I am not without my regrets. I regret that I strayed away from my parents, I regret that I hid from my trusted comrades, and I regret that I could not protect the children of Hjarta more from the pain that Fritjof inflicts. I do _not regret_ disobeying your laws, because if I hadn’t, this war may still be continuing.”

Odin sat back in his seat then, his hand rubbing the beard on his chin as he thought of the next question to ask. Your eyes wandered back over to Loki, and, while still tense, his chin tilted back with pride at your responses. The smile on your face because of him didn’t go unnoticed by the Allfather. 

“What of your relations to my son, Loki? How can I be sure you were not a witless girl seeking a spot in his bed?”

Your eyes narrowed at the question. Odin knew of your relationship with Loki, and you knew he also disliked it, if his words at dinner were telling enough. He wanted to make you answer in front of everyone though. He wanted to see if your truth would crumble away with humility. “With all due respect, I do not know anyone who would risk death just to fu–just for a dalliance.” Muddled laughter ran through the crowd at your quick correction. “I hated Prince Loki. I loathed him nearly as much as I loathe Fritjof, and he hated me the same. He could attest to that by noting the times I’ve called him a bastard, and I could note the time he stomped his boot on my injured shoulder.” Loki paled briefly at the mention of that as his mother looked over at him with a scrutinizing gaze. “However over time we grew to seek each other out. I can announce, with great pride and in front of so many people, that I love him, and that he loves me. If that were not so I would have discarded my life away the moment Fritjof’s death was not certain.” 

Odin looked to Loki then for confirmation, but your prince was too caught up in staring down at you rather than paying attention. Odin huffed and turned away; that was all the confirmation of your words he needed.

“Well then, is that all you have to say?” Odin asked, and you tilted your head slightly as you thought of whether to speak for longer.

“Killing or imprisoning me is losing a valuable asset to the Asgardian army. I fight with proficiency, and will guard my comrades’ lives with my own.” For what that would be worth to Odin, you did not know, but perhaps it was worth reminding the men you had fought with. 

Odin’s next words made you hold your gaze on the ground in front of you, afraid of who you might see standing. “Is there anyone here today that would wish to fight her for her claims?” The first to stand would win the rights. There was a shift of motion and murmurs through the crowd, and your ears were ringing in anticipation. “Lady Sif, the honor is all yours.”

You couldn’t help but look up then, and you did so at such a speed that it nearly pained you. Lady Sif walked down from her spot in the crowd, and you glanced back at Loki and Thor. The mildly worried looks on their faces concerned you, and Loki opened his mouth as though he could say something, but he couldn’t, and he dared not risk speaking to you telepathically again. Thor returned to the edge of his seat with a grim look of acceptance, though you knew that he would ask you both not to if he could. It would be selfish to expect him to support you in this fight. You were only his comrade, but Lady Sif was his lover. 

Your worried looks only left the two brothers when you were handed a weighty sword, and the frown that crossed your face gave away all of your anxieties instantly. You were severely disadvantaged, and as you gave a testing swing, that proved true. A sword was foreign compared to your mace. You could fight with one, yes, but Lady Sif was _trained_ with one. She flipped the sword in her hand with expert skill, and silently, you prayed to whatever stars would answer you that you would win this fight. She was the same size as you, as well, and so you couldn’t use your size against her like you could with men. But perhaps the biggest disadvantage was that you did not want to harm her. Harming her would thus harm Thor, and the man had done too much for you to hurt him in such a way. The determination on her face told you that she did not share that sentiment towards you. She would hurt you, and she would probably have no issue if that harmed Loki as well. 

The fight wouldn’t start until Odin declared it, and so you stepped forward to Sif. But before you could speak, she did so herself, “If you can best me in this fight, Ove, you deserved to be the woman on that battlefield. If you cannot, you are still a disgrace, and everyone here will know it. You deserve the punishment for putting us in a bad name.”

“Us?” You questioned, face screwing up in irritation. “If it were _us_ , there would have been other women fighting beside me.”

“None of them were as willing as you to abandon your previous life.”

“Then perhaps my determination is more than theirs.” You didn’t truly mean that. Never would you wish for anyone else to do the same thing that you had to. Leaving your family out of rage was too difficult a thing to deal with. But you were sick of the talk with Sif, and so you turned on your heels and took two paces back, raising your sword in preparation. You didn’t risk taking another glance back at Thor or Loki, keeping your back to them as you waited for Odin to commence the battle. “Sorry, Thor,” you muttered, knowing Sif wasn’t going to yield until she was absolutely forced to. 

Fighting her felt wrong in a million different ways, and as she rose her sword you tried to steel your gaze. You were wearing her clothes, she was nice enough to lend them to you, and now the garments would be stained with both her blood and yours. Now you figured the niceties were probably just to get under your skin, and to watch as nurses healed you so that she could remember where you were weakest. You tilted your head slightly, your hand ghosting over your stomach briefly. She was there to see every scar and wound on your body, and that settled into your mind as a hefty weight. 

“Play fair, Lady Sif,” you called, and you saw her falter in her expression before she gave you a nod of acknowledgement. 

“The fight will only end in a yield or a death.” Odin glanced at you then. “If you yield, it will lead to further punishment,” he clarified, and you grinned at him. You weren’t planning on yielding to Lady Sif. You would make her yield, even if she argued against it for the sake of her honor. “Begin!”

Lady Sif was launching herself at you as soon as the word left his mouth, barely giving you enough time to raise your sword in defense. Metals clashed together, and you stepped back to prevent yourself from falling altogether. You would have to play much smarter if you wanted to last in a fight against her.

“You will yield,” she grit out, and her sword slid from yours, distracting you just enough for her fist to collide with your jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. Hope you appreciated the brief bit of fluff in the beginning because things are getting a little rocky again.
> 
> WE’RE SO CLOSE TO 1000 KUDOS ALSO. I’m already crying. I love you guys. Thank you so much.
> 
> Please leave comments and feedback because I love hearing from you all. :)


	49. XLIX

“Right for the face,” you muttered, recovering quickly enough to avoid a kick to your side. As soon as you avoided it, Lady Sif backed off a bit, seeming to realize that you wouldn’t let yourself be so distracted again. You had hoped she would keep trying to hit you like that, so that she could wear herself out enough for you to be able to take her by surprise. But Lady Sif wasn’t foolish or angry enough for that, and so she waited for you to strike next.

Despite the ache in your jaw, you still didn’t want to rely on the sword. Your fist was good enough until she cut you first. Until then though, Thor would probably appreciate your restraint. You ran at her, and as she rose her sword to defend herself you skid on your knees to the side of her, using your right leg to jump back up fast enough to slam your elbow into the middle of her back. Bless marble floors for being so smooth to glide across. When she stumbled forward, you wrapped an arm around her throat, still avoiding the use of your sword. Having the upper hand didn’t last long though, and she bent over, her free hand reaching around and grabbing the back of your shirt as she tossed you over and onto the ground. Marble floors were good for sliding, but not for impact, your elbows and head stinging from the pain. 

It was then that Lady Sif decided her sword would be of good use, and its metal clanged against the floor as you narrowly rolled out of the way. You looked up at her in disbelief, knowing that that sword would have pierced right through you with a large amount of intent. 

“Bitch,” you cursed, back on your feet again. Something would need to change. Either you needed to start using your sword against her, or you needed to change the way you fought. You settled for both. A little more viscous, a little more bloodlust, and perhaps you could actually beat her. You waited for her to charge you again, and when she did, you grinned, dropping back down to your knees and slicing the side of her ankle. She cried out in pain, and you winced at the sound, your free arm around both of her feet as you pulled her to the ground. She wouldn’t be as fast on her feet anymore. You could still have that advantage. 

“You will yield,” you mocked her previous words. Your boot stepped onto her chest, your other foot holding down her arm so that she couldn’t strike you with her sword. The point of your sword touched her neck, and again, you ordered her to yield. When she failed to, your muscles tensed, and you twisted your sword away from her neck to cut her shoulder as a warning. “ _Yield_ ,” you hissed, and you would have cut her again if you didn’t look up to Thor for a moment too long.

He was struggling to sit in his seat, his hands gripped the arms of the chair so harshly that his knuckles turned white. He wanted to speak out, but he was bound by the rules of the fight not to. In the moment of your distraction, Sif violently twisted out from under your boots, and once her sword was free she expertly sliced through the front of your dominant wrist, and a shout left you just as your sword did. You clamped your hand over your wrist, trying to bend your fingers desperately, but to no avail. In its torn state your muscles twitched, tendons ripped and disabling you from having control. You wouldn’t be able to hold your sword, and the blood dripping down to stain the white floors confirmed that. 

Sif’s sword struck your side, and you screamed in both anger and pain as you pulled away from the blade, your nerves singing a violent song of agony. You saw nothing but red as too many memories of torture flashed through your mind, knowing that at some point Fritjof’s knife had been in your side just as her sword was. And this time, when you looked up through the haze of pain and blood, you saw Loki, and your lips formed a thin line as you stopped yourself from breathing too harshly for any longer. When Sif’s sword went to strike again, you raised your injured hand, catching the blade in your palm and grabbing the other side with your other hand. Adrenaline pushed back the pain, and Sif’s sword wasn’t slicing clean through your hand like it should have been. 

She had stepped forward with her injured ankle, not giving enough force behind her blow to take your hand from you. Her eyes widened in shock at the gall of your block, and her sword was pulled from your hands. Before she could pull too far away, your bloodied hand grabbed the wrist that held the sword, and you brought your elbow down into hers. A sickening _pop_ from her shoulder, and her sword fell out of her hand. A kick to her stomach sent her back on the ground, and you stood above her, a picture of absolute fury as you tossed her sword to the far end of the room, ensuring that neither of you could make use of it again. 

“Fuck you,” she huffed, and you grinned, grabbing onto her shirt collar and pulling her closer towards you. Her eyes widened as she looked at you, trying to dig her nails into the cut on your wrist and your palms. She looked up at you with an expression of fear, and it caused your grin to wipe away from your face. 

“Yield,” You hissed finally, and she shook her head as her boots clambered against the floor to try and move out from under you. “Think of Thor, Sif!” You shouted, causing her to pause for just a moment. “You will destroy him if you do not yield. Is that worth less than your envy?”

“I do not know the words, Ove,” Lady Sif growled, and your palm slammed the back of her head into the floor. Her mind swam, and you again repeated your order, but she wouldn’t say it. “You’re not a disgrace,” she said instead, and your chest tightened with regret as you slammed her head down again, tears filling your eyes as she lost consciousness.

“I _will not_ kill her!” You shouted as you stood, glaring over at Odin. “She forcibly yields. She cannot fight any longer whilst unconscious.” You refused to look at Thor, or even at Loki. You held you gaze on Odin, stepping away from Lady Sif as you waited for him to mull over what was to be next. 

“That is not against the rules,” the Allmother spoke to her husband. “Give her time to recover, and then the trial may continue. At least let a nurse patch up her cuts.”

“Only so she doesn’t get blood over the floors,” the Allfather huffed in response. “The fight is over!” He declared you as winner, and the nurses you had become familiar with came over to help both you and Sif. They took Sif on a stretcher out of the room, and you watched as the doors shut behind them. 

You wished she had yielded instead. 

“You have permission to leave the courtroom while we bandage you,” one of the nurses spoke, and you nodded dimly, allowing them to escort you out of the center of attention. 

When they had time to properly assess the damage to your hands, it wasn’t good news. “The cut in your wrist is too deep to heal quickly, and even when it is healed, the damage to the tendons will be permanent.”

“That’s fine,” you said, no ounce of emotion slipping from the words. You could learn to fight with your other hand. You had done so briefly before. 

“Love!” You perked up the moment you heard Loki’s voice, but when you reached out to touch him, you couldn’t. “Sorry, Love, I’m not allowed to be back here, and I can’t leave an illusion with them because my mother will know,” he explained quickly, looking over the nurse’s shoulder at your hands. “That was reckless,” he told you, and you glared up at him.

“I’m aware,” you muttered, retracting your hands as soon as the nurse was done with them. “I didn’t want to hurt her too badly. Thor would be upset.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “She hurt you,” he insisted.

“And she is not fond of you the way I am fond of Thor. She would not care if you were hurt by my loss.”

“Did she say anything to you that we couldn’t hear?” He asked you suddenly, and you tilted your head in confusion. “You saw the way she looked at you.”

You nodded, frowning again. “She looked fearful,” you admitted. “But she knew I wouldn’t kill her, so I don’t see why she would be.” When a nurse poured alcohol on the cut in your side, you grit your teeth, jerking away from her at the sudden pain. “ _Fuck_ ,” you breathed angrily, certain that that pain was worse than the pain of the actual cut itself. 

You remained tense as she stitched your side, and when you looked back up at Loki, he was itching to speak. “Your eyes,” he said, and your eyebrow twitched upwards. 

“What about them?” You asked, not at all knowing the connection between your eyes and Sif’s anger. 

“Gold,” he mentioned simply, but the gold in your eyes was short lived, and was now gone. 

“I don’t understand,” you muttered, but your eyes flashed gold again as the nurse pricked a little too deep into your skin. 

“They’re turning _gold_.” Loki leaned towards you, not wanting anyone else to hear his theory. “It must be my magic. Perhaps last night when I used magic to force you asleep more went through you. It must be when you are hurt that perhaps my magic is showing more as it heals you.”

You furrowed your brows, still not fully understanding how such a thing was possible. You didn’t feel any different. “Did your father or mother see?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so, and it is best kept that way.” He was turning his head towards the doors, not giving you any time to respond. “I have to go, lest they realize I’m not truly all there. The hardest part is over. Just let others speak for you now. We can talk about your eyes afterwards,” he told you, and regret crossed his face when he realized he could not leave you with a kiss like he normally would.

“I love you,” you said instead, and he returned the words and vanished. As soon as you were allowed to, you walked back into the courtroom, spotting a new open chair for you to take towards the middle of the room. When you sat down, you finally allowed yourself a full glance around the room. The majority of the crowd to the left of you was made of the men that you had grown accustomed to fighting with. Bjarke and Asger sat near the front, and when they saw you looking at them they smiled reassuringly. To the left of you was everyone else. The sorcerers of Hjarta were closely together towards the front, and while many of the children were not present, Pirko was sitting next to her father, angrily whispering to him about something. 

Your eyes scanned every row of people, looking for the two faces you had not seen in years, but you couldn’t find them. You wiped blood from your lip when you stopped relentlessly searching, letting your eyes drop back to the front of you. If they weren’t there, did they truly care for you? Or did they still think their daughter was a monster? 

“Do not cry,” you whispered to yourself, and Odin’s voice provided a needed distraction from your emotions.

“Is there anyone who would like to stand in defense of this woman?” 

You rolled your eyes at his use of the word ‘woman’, wondering briefly if he cared at all about your real name. Bjarke was the first to stand, and as he walked to the center of the courtroom, he still faltered on his feet because of his injuries. 

“I will stand in defense of Ove,” Bjarke announced, earning a small smile from you at the use of your alias. He either knew you were more comfortable hearing that, or was more used to it himself, but either way the name was welcome. “I could talk for a long time about Ove’s occasional idiocy, however I could also do the same for his–her–bravery.” He looked apologetic about slipping up, but you hardly cared. It couldn’t offend you when you had spent so long hiding as a man. “When I was captured by Fritjof, I was tortured relentlessly, same as she was herself. He sent a letter to Prince Thor, threatening my life and telling them that he had already burned away my eye. Ove was the first to respond. When I was pulled from the room they held me in, Ove was the one who killed the men who bound me. I am entirely indebted to her for saving my life, but even if I was not, I would still be saying these same things. Ove is at worst reckless and idiotic, but at best protective and undyingly loyal. I speak on behalf of myself and Asger Møllerson when I say that Ove is not a comrade, but family, and it should not be her up here on trial. It should be _Fritjof_.”

He said his parting words with such malice that you were certain Odin would have silenced him if he dared say anything more. He didn’t, however, and he promptly went back to his spot next to Asger. The next person to stand was Pirko, despite her father trying to pull her back to her seat. In comparison to the large crowd, she looked so fragile and weak, even though it was well known that she was not. She still had bruises on her skin, and you knew that she had refused to let them heal so that she could show her proof of what Fritjof had done to her and the other children.

She glanced over at you, playing with her fingers in front of her before she spoke. “I’d be dead without Ove. As would the other children,” she said, and you saw how even she was nervous to speak in front of so many. “When Maksim was threatened with our lives to get her to Fritjof, she came without hesitation, because she knew we were in danger and needed her. When the army was in Hjarta, Ove slept near us because she was afraid that if she left, we’d be taken. She promised to get our parents back, and she did. No other warrior would be so willing to sacrifice themself for others.” She paused, trying to gather together the right words. 

“Ove is willing. Ove is _always_ willing to do what others won’t, and she’s compassionate, despite her saying otherwise. The only disgraceful thing in this courtroom is that she is being put through this trial, despite not having the time to recover after being tortured. I heard _her_ screams, I heard _her_ agony. I saw her nearly torn to pieces and still fighting to keep me and Maksim alive. I–she–she doesn’t deserve this.” 

The reminder that she and the other children had heard all of your screams, and heard how Fritjof left every cut on your skin made you sick. Pirko’s shoulders gave away her tears, and you gripped the bottom of your chair to prevent yourself from running towards her and embracing her. You know she hated crying. She loathed to show weakness in front of anyone, especially adults, but she was still only a young girl. She dismissed herself once she was able to find her voice again, quickly moving back towards her seat and covering her face with her hands. 

There were still more speakers after her. Comrades you weren’t even close with came up to vouch for your pardoning, and while Odin was beginning to look slightly impressed, it was still unsure if it was enough. “While it is in a way remarkable that so many would vouch for you, I cannot let this offense go without punishment. You are not to be executed, but you will be sentenced to twenty years of imprisonment.” Before anyone could open their mouths to speak, he continued, “That is a _fraction_ of the usual punishment for treason.”

Perhaps foolishly, you were out of your seat in a moment, anger apparent in the color of your face. “If you imprison me, you are granting Fritjof a much greater satisfaction than he should be allowed. If you must, put him on trial first. Let him think I am not being punished for my treason, so that he doesn’t sit in this courtroom with a shit eating grin on his face.” You shouldn’t have spoken, because you could see how Odin was now tempted to give you a longer sentence. 

“You _insolent_ —”

“Allfather,” Thor butt in, and you froze, because you knew that both sons were not supposed to speak during your trial because they were too partial to you. “Ove is right. If you sentence her now, it will give Fritjof too much reason to be complicit.” 

“You are not supposed to interfere, Thor,” was his only response, and you bristled, eyes flashing gold. 

“She does not deserve that extensive of a punishment in general,” Loki said, and he was up and by your side without hesitation. “Twenty years is too much. Mull it over, Allfather. You heard from so many people about her integrity that your mind should have been changed.” He looked over to you, placing his hand on your shoulder to calm you down. 

“And the speeches of others have gotten her twenty years instead of a lifetime,” Odin huffed, annoyed with his sons for speaking out of line. “If you continue this foolishness, both of you will have to be punished. It’s the rule of court in Asgard, and it should not be broken.”

“Don’t,” you whispered to Loki, but he didn’t pay any mind to your words of warning. 

“That is nothing unfamiliar to me,” he remarked, placing his hands behind his back in the same smug manner that could irk even the calmest of people. “If you truly wish to punish her, do so after Fritjof’s trial, and you may punish me as well.”

“Me too!” The small girl’s voice was muffled by her father’s hand, but she escaped his grasp to run towards you. You were filled with warmth at the gesture, but you doubted Odin would punish a girl so young anyway. 

“My Goddess is one of the strongest warriors in Asgard, and I will stand by her side.” There was a roar from the men you had fought with at Loki’s declaration, and you weren’t quite sure if you wished to hit him or kiss him for his use of the endearing term. 

You looked away from him briefly as you saw Thor stand from his chair as well, making his way towards you. Briefly, the heir to the throne’s mouth fell open, and when you looked over at Loki, you saw why. He was _kneeling_. Kneeling. The man who had once ordered you to kneel out of anger was now kneeling in front of you, his hand placed over his heart. All traces of gold were gone from your eyes as you looked down at your prince, your god, kneeling before you and devoting himself to you, his goddess, completely. Odin was muttering something, clearly confused as to why his son, who was more enthralled by power than anyone else, would sacrifice his honor to kneel before a woman like you, who had committed treason and insulted him harshly previously. 

“Punish her, and you punish me,” Loki swore, and when you finally looked away from him, your comrades had their fists covering their hearts, swearing the same as Loki had just done. Even Pirko and Thor had their hands over their own hearts. 

“My love,” you whispered, instinctively reaching to pull him back up to his feet, but he did not shift in his position, and he wouldn’t until Odin made a decision.

Odin was red in the face, Frigga whispering words to him that you could not hear. He was threatened by you, that much you knew, and he was embarrassed that so much of the room was disagreeing with his decision. “I will _think_ about it,” he said finally, but Loki was still not standing, and no one dropped their hands from their hearts. “And it will not be until after Fritjof’s trial, but you will not be able to attend.”

Loki was back up on his feet, whispering you to turn down your gaze, at least briefly, as your eyes flashed gold once more. You listened to him, but only until you took a few breaths to calm yourself down. “That is fine,” you said finally. “Thank you for your leniency.” Briefly, you bowed, but Loki’s hand on your arm let you know that you were allowed to dismiss yourself from the room, and you did so immediately, overwhelmed by the mixture of emotions you were experiencing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t hate Sif enough to make her entirely an awful person. I feel she has some valid reasons for challenging Ove.
> 
> Also, gold eyes? Wonder what that’s about ( ͡o ͜ʖ ͡o)
> 
> AHH 1000+ KUDOS. I did cry, by the way. I kept checking until we reached 1000 and then I freaked out and showed all of my friends. Thank you all so so much.


	50. L

Loki and Thor both followed you out of the courtroom, one brother on each side of you. It wasn’t long before you were thanking them repeatedly, while also telling them that they were idiots for going against their father’s laws. Loki was able to hold you in his arms for only a few moments before you were pulled from him by Asger and Bjarke. They brought you into their hold eagerly, singing praise about your fight, and when you looked back at Loki, you couldn’t help but laugh at the jealous look on his face.

“You’re an absolute idiot,” Bjarke huffed, but neither him nor Asger were letting you breathe in their grasps. 

“But I’m alive, and not in a cell,” you muttered, words muffled by Asger’s bicep as you tried to wiggle out of their grip. 

Loki coughed into his hand, making your two friends finally loosen their grips. “She’s still injured,” he pressed, but everyone knew that that was not his primary concern. 

“Better let go of me before he becomes too jealous, Ass and Bark,” you remarked, and they promptly did so, fearing a jealous Loki more than an angry one. Thor was still standing near you, but he was ansier than you had ever seen him before. “I’m sorry, Thor. She wouldn’t yield.”

He smiled at that, laughing a little. “Of course she wouldn’t. I am sorry that she sought to challenge you, but it was most likely an advantage for you anyway. You fought strong, as always. Our father may view that as a way to strengthen Asgard’s army.” He gave you a careful pat on your shoulder, not wanting to bother any of your injuries. “But I am going to go check on her, even though she is less injured than you. You probably just gave her a concussion.”

“And a cut ligament,” you added quietly, but Thor didn’t seem to mind all too much. He thought that you did what you had to, and that brought you at least mild comfort. “Will the Allfather uphold punishment for all of you?”

Loki tilted his head, seemingly trying to figure out what Odin truly would do about it all. “I believe that right now, he is at a loss of what to do. He _wants_ to punish you for treason, so that he doesn’t seem like a lax ruler, but he is also aware of everyone else who would stand behind you. If anyone were to be punished besides you, however, it would be me. I doubt he will punish Thor, but he would not have an issue with doing so to me.”

“As truly poetic as it sounds for two lovers to be locked up together, perhaps we can just continue to persuade the Allfather not to punish anyone at all,” Bjarke remarked dryly, calling you lovers only to see the blush on your face. 

You adjusted the collar of your shirt, hoping that neither Bjarke nor Asger had seen the mark from Loki that you had requested to be left. While you had left it and were confident in having it displayed to other people, you were certain that the two would find some issue with it, considering they had you claimed as their younger sibling. Just seeing you near Loki sparked their protectiveness of you, so you doubted they would appreciate seeing more evidence of your relationship. Unfortunately, adjusting your shirt only made it more obvious to the both of them, and you watched with a weary grin as Asger raised his eyebrows at Loki.

This time, it was you who coughed into your hands to drag their attention away from each other. “When is Fritjof’s trial supposed to be?” You asked, even though you knew you would not be allowed to attend. You just wanted to know.

“A week from today,” Loki answered, narrowing his eyes as he watched you look to the left in thought, your teeth digging back into your bottom lip. “You _cannot_ sneak in to attend, Love. That will be another grievance against the Allfather, and he will be certain to give you twenty years then.”

Damn. You stood with your arms crossed in front of you, pissed that Loki could see through you so easily. Even Asger and Bjarke surely came to the same conclusion as Loki, despite being unable to tell you were a woman for a year. “Just asking,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as Asger shoved your head to the side. They all knew you were lying. “You all get to go!” You said finally. “And I just have to stay in a guarded room all day by myself, despite probably having some valuable information or taunting abilities to contribute to the trial.”

“You’d kill him,” Asger said, Bjarke nodding beside him in agreement. 

“At least he’d be dead,” you snapped back, and Loki quickly covered your mouth with his hand when you went to say something more. He pulled you to his chest, holding you tightly until you stopped struggling and trying to speak more.

“You’ll get yourself in trouble if you keep speaking like this in public,” he told you, finally removing his hand from your mouth. 

You spun around to face him, nose twitching in irritation. “You are so _lucky_ ,” you huffed.

He raised his eyebrows. “How?” 

“Because my hands would hurt too bad if I hit you right now,” you said quickly, holding up your bandaged hands as if he’d accept that poorly constructed divergence. 

In response, he just hummed, showing off his content with what your original retort would have been. “Right, well, I love you too, Dear,” he said, and Bjarke and Asger both gagged. 

Glancing back into the courtroom one last time, you hoped to see the two people you were missing the most at the moment, but again, you never found them. Your face fell, and immediately, Asger was asking what you were thinking about, but you brushed the question off. “It’s nothing.”

“Maybe they just...couldn’t make it, Ove. You do not know if they didn’t want to come,” Bjarke said, elbowing Asger roughly for being so slow. “Is it possible to invite them to the castle? You could send a letter their way, since you are not allowed to leave.”

Loki nodded. “I could even make the trip myself to invite them.”

You would have to think about it. If your parents weren’t even around during your trial, would they truly wish to see you again? It was clear to everyone that you were unsure of what you wished, because your eyebrows were worried and you were staring down the hall as if the answer would be found there. It was impossible that your parents didn’t know about the trial. Despite your real name not being broadcast, they still would have known that a woman who went by the name Ove snuck into the army. That would be a dead giveaway to anyone who was familiar with you. 

“You don’t—”

“We can—”

When you looked up at Bjarke and Loki, they were boring holes into each other with their eyes. Asger, however, simply seemed irritated with both of their behaviors. 

“I know,” you said, not wanting either of them to jump down each other’s throats to continue speaking. “I can think about it, right?” You confirmed, and both of them nodded. Then you would. You doubted you could take your mind off it.

The four of you stood around the hall for a while, but for the most part, you stayed silent as they all spoke. It was mainly hushed whispers about what would have to be done if Odin decided to still imprison you, but occasionally, you heard Bjarke mutter warnings to Loki if he were to ever harm you. He snuck the words in casually, in between sentences, and Loki chose to ignore every single warning. For once, you had nothing to add to the conversation. You were far too overwhelmed with everything that had happened, and with thinking about your parents, to do so. Besides, ultimately, you would do what _you_ felt was best for you, without the input of others. 

Loki’s hand grabbed your forearm gently, and you looked up just as Odin passed by you. He hardly looked your way, disgruntled with your behavior as well as his son’s. “Fucking a…” You stopped speaking as soon as you thought about the words leaving your mouth, and because of Asger’s kick to your shin. You growled, rubbing your shin and cursing quietly at Asger as Odin made his way all the way around the corner. When he was safely out of your sight, and out of hearing range, Loki let go of your arm. “I don’t need to be babysat,” you said stubbornly, not appreciating the brief laughter from all three of them at that. 

“In terms of your quick-to-anger attitude, you have not changed since we first met you,” Asger responded, watching with a grin as your nose crinkled up in disgust, the same way it had when you used to talk about Loki being worthless. 

“I’ve changed,” you said quickly, glancing over at Loki for confirmation. He shrugged, further growing your frown. “Why do you all have to be such assholes after all I just dealt with in the courtroom?”

Bjarke just grinned, but it was soon wiped away as a palace guard approached, his attention directed towards you. Loki stiffened beside you, but you didn’t see a reason to be alert. The guard couldn’t hurt you, not in public, anyway. At least not physically. “Lady Ove,” the guard spoke, and you wondered then if someone had gone around telling everyone to only refer to you as Ove, rather than your true name. “By the Allfather’s orders, you are to remain in your room until a decision is made. You are not to exit, unless you are directly called upon by the throne, and no one is to visit you, except for the maids.”

You swallowed. So that is why Loki had looked so displeased. “Right,” you said calmly, smiling a little. The guard shifted, not expecting that reaction out of you, and he was right to be surprised, because your smile was not one of pleasantries. “Please tell the Allfather to _shove that order as far up in his_ —”

Loki had you up and over his shoulder before you could finish, eliciting a groan of anger from you. “Have a nice night,” he told Bjarke and Asger, teleporting both of you back to your room. 

If it weren’t for the sickly feeling in your stomach from the abrupt change in scenery, you surely would have found a way to kick Loki where it hurts. “I’m going to _murder_ you for that one!” You shrieked, knocking your fists against his back. His chest rumbled with laughter, and you snapped at him that it was _not_ funny. “Put me down, Liesmith,” you hissed, and he set you down on the bed, if only to get you to stop punching him. 

He promptly pressed a kiss to your lips as an apology, but when he pulled away he was grinning. “I do occasionally love seeing you so angry though,” he admitted, and you scoffed, holding your hand up in front of your face when he went to kiss you again.

You knew exactly what he was trying to do, and you were not at all in the mood for his distractions. “This is not the angry that will translate to passion, Loki,” you said sternly, watching as he slowly frowned, but backed off of you and instead sat next to you. You faltered for a moment, if only because he looked like a sad, rejected child. “It will more so translate to me actually hurting you.”

He sighed then, as if for once, the silvertongue was at a loss of things to say. “I am sorry I pulled you from that situation against your will,” he said finally, and you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, nodding, waiting for him to continue. “But if you had spoken that to him, there is no doubt he would have reported it.”

“Then maybe I should not be forced to be stuck in this shithole for another few days.” Shithole was perhaps not the correct word. The room itself was lovely. It was the connotation of why you were here that made it a shithole. Suddenly, Loki tugged your hair back with his hand. As soon as he let go, you snapped, trying to look at him with a glare. “What the _fuck_ was that?” You growled, but he just stared at you in return. “No, Loki, that hurt!” When he didn’t respond, you grabbed his hair, giving a tug as payback, though you almost felt bad about the hiss of pain that came from him. Perhaps you pulled his hair a bit harder than he pulled yours out of spite. 

“I deserved that,” he muttered, apologizing for tugging your hair. “Your eyes keep flashing gold,” he explained, and you frowned a little, feeling bad now as you realized why he had made you purposefully angry. “They were gold earlier, as well, after Odin told you that you would not be able to attend Fritjof’s trial. I wanted to see if it was due to your anger.” You could forgive him for that. “I’m thinking it is due to you not being a natural magic user. The book said nothing of this side effect, but it did mention that every person will have a different reaction. Perhaps yours is that the magic shows itself in a physical way, through your eyes. It makes sense that it appears when you experience a strong emotion, but it seems it is only the negative ones.” 

“It doesn’t feel any different,” you murmured, kicking off your boots when you acknowledged that you would not be leaving the room anytime soon. “Loki, will you be in deeper trouble if they find out that you used that trick on me?” At the reminder of how he had been banned from the book, you were worrying about what Odin’s reaction would be. If Loki was already most likely going to be punished for talking at your trial, he was surely to be punished more for going directly against the Allfather’s wishes.

Loki was thinking about his answer, or more so thinking about how he wanted to phrase it to make it seem like it wasn’t that big of a deal. You knew he didn’t want you to grow worried over him. To him, the focus was to be on you and your problems at all times, but you didn’t want to see him in a cell either. “It is likely I’ll spend a few years in a cell,” he admitted, and you sulked in your spot. “But it is not a worry…”

“I’ve been around you long enough to know when you lie,” you reminded him, and he promptly quit with his excuses. “Can you take it away?” Your stomach tightened, and in the back of your eyes you could tell that tears were going to form soon. You didn’t want Loki in a cell. You had always been so determined to step over absolutely anyone that you would have to in order to kill Fritjof, but you could not take advantage of Loki. If you had to be in a cell, so be it, but if you ever had to see Loki behind those glass panes, it would shatter you. You glanced over at him, spotting the pain in his features. His answer would most definitely be no, but if you could just… “My love, can you take it away? Just _some_ of it, to prevent my eyes from turning gold? So that you are not punished for helping me.”

“No.” His answer was so firm that his jaw was clenched. He was angry that you would ask such a thing, because you knew it would lead to a sickly and dying state. You knew it would reopen closed wounds and cause internal bleeding that would surely cause you agonizing pain. _No._ No he would not. “And do not ask again. I have sworn my love and my protection to you. Those that hurt you will perish, those that try to steal you away will suffer, and those that question my love for you will be proven wrong. Let me, for once, Love, protect you. You have protected me, you have nearly died for me, and I will not allow you to do something so foolish again.”

“Not even some of it?” You whispered, hoping he would at least agree to that. 

“I would heal you more before I ever took anything away,” he replied, and you saw tears in his eyes. Your request would hurt him more than a few years in a cell. Losing you would drive him mad. “Please do not request me to do such a thing. If you truly wish it, then it will come from you when there is not a chance that either of us are in any sort of trouble. I love you as much as I love my brother and mother, if not more. There is nothing I treasure more than you. The idea of wealth or power do not satisfy me as much as the idea of being with you for the rest of our lives, so _please_ , do not ask me to take away your life. I would say my life would end shortly after, but I would force myself to suffer.”

You wouldn’t want either. You didn’t want his life to end, and you didn’t doubt that he would force himself to live with the thought that he killed you, even if you requested it yourself. “Loki,” you called quietly, your heart violently tugging in your chest when you saw that he was truly crying. Though he tried to hold it back, the tears still slid down his face, and you could not help but pull him into a tight hug. “I am _sorry_ , Loki. I didn’t want to upset you, I just wanted to protect you, if I could.”

He leaned his head on your shoulder, too ashamed of his tears to look at you. His hands gripped the back of your shirt tightly, but you didn’t mind. “Let me be selfish,” he murmured, and you nodded slowly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I do not want to be alone again.”

You froze, only for a second as you let his words sink all the way in. “I will not leave you alone,” you said firmly, turning to kiss the top of his head. “How could I forget?” You asked after a while, and Loki lifted his head with furrowed brows. You rubbed your thumbs underneath his eyes, wiping away each tear that still found its escape route. “I promised you I would not throw my life away, didn’t I?” He nodded slowly, remembering the promise you made shortly after you first confessed your love for each other. “I’m sorry, my prince. I didn’t think about everything we would lose if I asked you to take your magic from me. I just–I was worried, and rash, like always.”

You heard a quiet thank you from your love, but his grip on you did not loosen. Slowly, you moved his arms from around you, but only so that you could pull back the covers of your bed. “Let me change into something less bloody, will you?” You asked him, almost feeling bad for letting him go. You were changed, however, in only a few moments, and you welcomed Loki beside you in bed, curling up as close as you could to him. “I love you,” you hummed, kissing his nose. “And I will renew my promise to you. I swear I will not leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is more of a slight filler chapter but gotta transition somehow. 
> 
> I made a tumblr! My user is SeekerOfValhalla, because SeekingValhalla was unfortunately taken. You’ll see occasional sneak peaks at new chapters, other fic ideas, my favorite fics to read, and lots of Loki. And probably Angela Odinsdottir too because I love her. 
> 
> I also encourage you to ask me questions there! It’s just another way for me to interact with you all. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the love and support.


	51. LI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I’ve been kind of burnt out this week, so if this chapter isn’t the best, I know.

When you woke in the morning, Loki was sitting beside you, his nose in a book. As soon as he saw you were awake, the book vanished from his hands, although you would have asked what he had been reading. You sat up slowly, your hair a mess as you wiped your nose on your arm. Rather than rolling his eyes at your actions, Loki just laughed, and he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“It would be nice to wake up like this forever,” you said honestly, looking over him with a brief look of concern. Last night had been a sort of catharsis for the silvertongue, and you had spoken softly to him for hours, allowing him to talk as much as he wished to, no matter the subject. He had allowed you to do so the night before, but you wouldn’t mind no matter what. Eventually, you had managed to coax him asleep, by reciting every part of your brother’s favorite book that you could. Your memory only allowed you to remember bits and pieces of various poems, but Loki was unbothered by it, and so you kept speaking until he was finally asleep, his head resting on your chest and his arms wrapped around you. Now, he simply looked tired. The bags under his eyes were dark and swollen because of his tears. He was tired, but content as he smiled down at you and cooed a good morning. You decided not to mention his tears from last night, knowing he would probably prefer to move on from the scene.

“Sleep well?” He asked, truly wishing to know. Nothing he asked you was ever insincere. You hummed your response, scooting beside him to rest your head on his shoulder. Carefully, he grabbed your right wrist, turning it over to see if you had bled through your bandages. “We should clean these better today. The nurses did a poor job.”

You groaned, wanting to do anything else but have to look at your cut up hands. “Can’t we do it another time?”

“Do you wish to suffer more than you already have? The nerve damage is already irrepairable.” He was apologetic about that, despite how harsh the truth was. 

You sighed and shook your head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed so that Loki could unwrap your bandages. You heard him suck in a sharp breath when the bandages were gone, and you reacted in nearly the same way. Your hands were completely macerated, every line of them split in two from Sif’s swords. The nurses had been right. There was absolutely no way that you would be able to use your right hand in a fight again. As it was, you still couldn’t bend your fingers, and doing so on the other hand only caused you a great amount of pain. When you kept trying to bend them, eyes gold from the pain, Loki flicked your nose until you stopped.

“You’ll hurt yourself more. Let them heal,” he scolded you, dousing your wounds with an herbal remedy that made your nose wrinkle up in disgust. 

“What’s in that?” You asked, wishing you could pinch your nose. You would breathe in through your mouth, but that almost seemed like the worser option. 

Loki grinned then, finished smearing it on your hands. “You probably would not like to know,” he answered, and your eyes went wide as he laughed at your misfortune. “I am jesting, Love. There’s nothing in here besides unfortunately smelling herbs and muds. An awful scent, but an effective salve nonetheless.”

“It’s disgusting,” you said dryly.

“Then perhaps you should think twice about grabbing ahold of a sword with your bare hands.” You kicked him in the chest then for that remark, just enough to cause him to have to regain his crouched position. He was right, of course, and that’s why he got the kick. “You could have lost your whole hand,” he pressed. 

“I didn’t though.” What was the purpose of focusing on what could have happened? As Loki wrapped your hands and wrists in bandages, you couldn’t help but repeatedly groan with irritation. You couldn’t complain around the nurses, but you could complain all you wanted to with Loki around. “It’s too tight,” you told him, and finally, you got a glare out of him as he knotted the bandage on your left hand without adjusting it. You couldn’t bend your fingers now even if you wanted to. 

“For someone as self destructive as you, it’s probably not tight _enough_. However, any tighter and you’d lose circulation.”

“Sure, Nurse Loki.” The look on his face made you chuckle, and he promptly cut you off with a kiss. 

“Could you do me a favor and never call me that again?” 

“Maybe if you loosen the bandages.” He didn’t seem amused by your suggestion, but you raised your hands up anyway to see if he would budge. “I could never hold your hand like this,” you hinted, but he just rolled his eyes.

“You hardly hold my hand anyway,” he pointed out, and you pursed your lips as a million other ways to persuade him crossed your mind. None of them, unfortunately, would probably work. He was far too caught up in the idea of keeping you safe and in good care to listen to you. 

Still, you continued, “I can’t even hug you properly, or hold onto your face while I kiss you.”

“You speak as if all of those are one sided, when I could just make all of it up by paying extra attention to you.” Well, you couldn’t truly argue against that, could you? He knew you were unable to come up with anymore excuses the moment you bit your lip again, and he smirked with pride because of the small victory. “Please just keep them on. I do not know how often I will be able to be in here with you in the next few days.”

What a hefty reminder. You had no idea how you would provide yourself with enough entertainment to keep yourself from getting into trouble, or dying from boredom. You were never one to sit still in the first place, so how was being alone and confined going to work out for you? “Will you do something for me?” You asked Loki, purely out of courtesy, since you knew he would do most anything if it would benefit you. “Visit my parents. If I can’t have visitors or leave, I would at least like someone to check on them. And then you could relay their message back to me, if they have anything to say at all.”

Loki’s hand messed up your hair. “Do not worry, my goddess,” he told you softly. “I am certain they will be grateful that you are, for the most part, safe.”

You didn’t even bother responding, knowing that Loki would dismiss your concerns the best he could, and that your silence voiced all of it on its own. Finally, a reminder crept into your mind, and your eyes turned gold as tears filled them. “I-I really wanted to give my mother that necklace I bought with Bjarke,” you whispered, “but Fritjof snapped it.” The symbol carved into your back burned every time you mentioned Fritjof, but only because your negative thoughts formed false bodily pain. You shook your head before Loki could even offer what he was going to. Giving your mother any old piece of jewelry would not make your heavy heart any lighter. 

“Sorry,” you apologized as Loki brought you back into his arms. “Just tell them I am sorry, even if they do not mention wanting to hear from me.”

“I will,” he promised, kissing you on the forehead. “I have to go now though, Love. If I have the time to visit again I will, but it is likely my father will be giving me work to keep me occupied. The next time we speak I will tell you how your parents are.”

You nodded, although you didn’t want him to leave. “I love you.”

“And I love you as well.” With that, he apologetically teleported from the room, not needing to show the guards that he had been here so openly, and you were left alone with just your memories to haunt you.

 

As it turned out, you were alone for five days before Loki was able to return to you. During those five days, you had thought numerous times that you would be able to escape the room, but none of your attempts brought you any further than the windowsill. Sometimes, when you woke in the morning Loki had teleported a book into your room, with a note that fondly stated why he enjoyed it. You had _tried_ to read them, but your mind was elsewhere and would only allow you to do so for a few minutes at a time. And so for the majority of the days, you picked up training again, doing as much as you could with an injured and tired body. 

Training made you angry, because everytime you laid on the floor to do sit ups the symbol on your back screamed in pain, reminding you that it would never be gone. Everytime you came up to your knees your abdomen seized, proof of the arrows and the sword that had been struck there before. You couldn’t do your usual sets of push-ups, couldn’t lift or hold anything to save your life, and ten times you had had to undo Loki’s bandaging because you had stained them with blood again. Certainly, if he knew the way you were forcing your hands to bend he would bind them in such a way that would make it impossible. 

The maid who had helped you the one night was the one who brought you food, but she wasn’t allowed to stay and talk with you either. The guards wouldn’t even allow her to walk past the entryway. Towards day four, you were only opening the door all the way so that you could see another person, even if the moment was fleeting. Throughout your time being homeless, you were never alone like this. You were without real companionship, yes, but you were never restricted from interacting with people. Even rude interactions with Fiske would be welcome over the silence. 

Silence meant being trapped in your thoughts, and it had been a while since you were allowed that displeasure. It was hard to concentrate on the good when there was no one to remind you of it. There were no annoying friends to joke around with, no soft kisses or ticklish giggles that were always present when Loki was around. There were only angry, anxiety riddled thoughts without them. When Loki had begged that he did not want to be left alone, you had felt truly awful, but now you remembered why it was so important for the both of you to have someone else to speak to. You pulled eachother out of the depths of your minds, and you knew since the beginning that as fearless as Loki seemed, it was his own thoughts that frightened him. 

He knew that you were the same way, too. 

Loki entered your room while you were in the middle of doing push ups, or _trying_ to do push-ups, and he was not happy to see you putting pressure on your hands. When you looked up and saw his face, you quickly rolled over onto your back, holding up your hands to show that you had kept rebandaging them, although he still wasn’t any less disappointed in you. 

“I’m bored,” you complained, wanting to cut him off before he could verbalize his irritation. “I can’t sit still the way you can, Loki. I read maybe a quarter of each book you sent before I had to move.”

“Couldn’t you do something other than push-ups?” He asked, moving to sit down beside you on the floor so that he could grab your hands. He was unwrapping the bandages before you could even argue against it, and you knew what your hands looked like, so you just sat in silence. You cringed at the tone he said your name in. “ _Stop_ applying weight to your right wrist. It’s already mangled as is and you made it worse.”

Yeah, so you did. “I at least changed the bandages, and applied more of that disgusting stuff,” you offered, only earning a small smile from him because of the wide grin you tried to offer him. “Did you _really_ expect me to not use my hands for five days by myself?”

“No, but I hoped you would listen for once. And the salve isn’t going to help if you don’t rest too.” 

You both lapsed back into silence as he healed some of the smaller cuts in your hands. He looked tired again, and you wondered what Odin was having him do to keep him busy. “Are you tired?” You asked, sitting up. “I could always rewrap the bandages myself.”

“I’m fine with doing it,” he answered, kissing the tip of your nose. 

“Did you get to visit my parents?” He tried to hide it, but he momentarily paused in his actions, and your chest tightened. “Do they not care?”

Quickly, he shook his head, tying off the bandages. “No, no, Love, they care. They were very relieved that you were safe and sound.” Oh. _Oh_. Then what was wrong? What did he find so troubling? You were lead-tongued, unable to find the words you wanted. “Your father fell sick a few months ago,” he explained.

“How bad?” You really didn’t want to know. 

Loki’s lips formed a thin line. “Bad enough that I was there for most of my time in an attempt to make him better. He’s beginning to do okay, but your mother said that he’s been bedridden for a while now.”

“You were healing him?” You asked, and Loki gave a solemn nod of confirmation. “They let you?” Your mother wasn’t a judgemental person, but your father was, and he _always_ stated his preference for Prince Thor, for the same reasons others did.

“They let me after I explained my relationship with you. They seemed more willing to trust me when I spoke of healing you, and hiding your secret. They care for you.” You smiled just a little, not fully being able to express how grateful you were for both their love and his. Him repeatedly traveling to your house to help your father meant more than the world to you, except you wished you could go to help as well. “Tonight, if you are willing to risk it, I can take us to them. I can teleport us to the stables when it is sure that no one will enter this room, and we can take Casimir to your house.”

“Halvor?” You asked weakly, and he shook his head. It would be too obvious to take your favorite horse. “If you think it is safe to do so, I will. I want to see them both, and I think I’m ready to.”

“Then we will leave in the middle of the night. I mentioned this possibility to them, so your mother should not be surprised to see us.” He chuckled then, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “I can see why you are as stubborn as you are. Your mother nearly refused to get rest until she asked me every question she could about my relationship with you, and she then proceeded to ask every question possible about my magic.”

You grinned. That sounded like your mother alright. “Well I certainly hope you entertained with all of that information, otherwise _I’ll_ get an earful about it.” Though there were plenty of other things your mother would berate you for.

“I did. Staying in silence throughout my trips there would have proved uncomfortable.” 

You laughed, as that was his way of saying that he enjoyed talking to your mother. The picture that formed in your head of the two talking worked to put you at ease a little bit, although you were still worried that things would be different once your parents actually saw you. 

“I’m expected for dinner again,” Loki said, switching the subject as soon as he realized that someone would be dropping food off for you soon. “I should be back in three hours or so, and then we can leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Ove sees her parents again. But how will it go?
> 
> Thank you to those of you who followed me on tumblr! I haven’t had a tumblr in yeaaars so it’s taking me a while to get back into the swing of using it.
> 
> Tumblr username: SeekerOfValhala
> 
> Also, big thank you to everyone who comments, leaves kudos, or reads this fic in general.


	52. LII

“I have my own coat.” 

And yet, Loki still insisted on pushing one of his own coats into your arms.

“Mine is warmer,” Loki pressed, the corners of his lips threatening to pull into a smirk because of the grumpy look on your face. “And I truly do love seeing you in my clothing.”

“It is too big for me,” you muttered, but you put it on anyway, secretly doing so just to make him happy. “Can I wear your helm then?” You asked, a mischievous grin on your face at the way he quirked a brow. 

“We’re not going into battle, Love,” was his response, and you shrugged. 

“Maybe not, but think of how powerful I’ll look.” 

That seemed to sway him, because in a moment his helm appeared in his hands and he passed it off to you. You frowned briefly, the weight of it surprising you, before placing it on your head. Before you even let go of it entirely, Loki was laughing at you, because it was a little too big for you, and along with his coat made you look like a child. You grinned right along with him, trying to take your mind off of your nerves. You needed to laugh before you snuck off to your old house with him. 

“It doesn’t fit,” you said, handing it back to its rightful owner. “But perhaps I’ll have to have a similar one made in the future. We could match.” You were joking, and yet there _was_ something kind of satisfying about the idea. Loki felt the same way, and you could see gears turning in his mind as he pictured it. You chuckled, wrapping your arm around his. “We, I, should stop stalling.” You had been doing so for a while now.

 

You regretted not stalling more, because as you stood in front of your old home now, you didn’t want to enter it. So much so that you turned on your heels and tried to walk away, only to run into Loki’s arm as he tried to stop you.

“It will be fine,” he promised, but you didn’t feel it would be fine, and you stared at where Casimir was left, itching to just get back on the horse and return to your confinement. You let Loki turn you back around to face the house, feeling a gentle knock to your cheek from him as a reminder of your anxious habits. 

You wiped the blood off your lip, and slowly opened the door to your house, Loki allowing you to lead the way. The moment your boots touched the wood floors, you were flooded with memories. So much had happened in this house, and as much as you wanted to focus on the ones involving laughter, you could only think of the ones involving screaming. The entrance to your house led directly to the kitchen, and the table in the corner was never something you were fond of looking at. After your brother’s death, your parents had burned the table you hid under, and replaced it with another, less stained one, but it had never helped you forget. 

You saw yourself sitting under that table, huddled as close to your brother as possible. You saw your brother try and muffle your cries with a palm over your mouth, and you saw barbarians destroy your belongings. Before you got too caught up though, you continued walking. If you stood too long in that spot you’d only feed your nightmares. You could hear your father coughing in the other room, but you didn’t want to go there yet. Loki didn’t bother trying to grab your attention, and he patiently followed you to the closed door, his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. 

“This was our room,” you told him quietly, pushing open the door. “ _Was_ ,” you emphasized again, aware of the soft footsteps approaching the room. You wrapped Loki’s coat closer around you, uncomfortable by how empty the room felt. 

“We thought—”

“Stop, Mother,” you said quickly, facing away from her and walking further into the bedroom. The only pieces of furniture left were your old bed and dresser. Your brother’s furniture had disappeared a long time ago, despite your screaming about it. The bedding was different, the pillows were different. You pulled open a dresser drawer, devoid of any of the clothing you had left, or the small pieces of jewelry you had owned. The only thing left of you in the room was the stuffed wolf at the end of the bed, but that was no consolation for everything else that was gone. 

Your mother carefully stepped past Loki, who had resigned to lean against the hall wall until he was needed. He knew this was something you needed to resolve without his interference. “We thought you were _gone_ ,” your mother said, holding her hands to her chest as she looked you over, her eyes full of tears. 

Surely, to her you must look as though her daughter was gone. When you were kicked out, your muscles weren’t so defined and your body wasn’t littered in as many scars. Your hands weren’t wrapped in bandages then, and your face not splattered with cuts and bruises. But her daughter _wasn’t_ gone. You were alive, you were here, and you were hurt by the way they seemed to rid you from their lives by removing any essence of you that there once was in the house. That was how they did things. They picked things up and removed them, even when you begged them not to give away your brother’s clothing. 

“Am I not your daughter?” You asked, voice breaking as you picked up the well-loved wolf. “Was Ove never your son?” 

You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand the way they grieved, if they felt grief at all. You dug your hand deep into the pocket of your pants, grabbing onto the small, worn piece of fabric and taking it out. “This is all I have, Mother,” you told her, holding it up for her to see and watching as realization crossed her face. She knew who that scrap once belonged to. “This is all I have of Ove besides his mace and besides his spirit, and you, along with Father and along with others, have torn every other part of him from me. You rid him of your life and did the same to me.”

“We didn’t want you gone, we just wanted you to see how destructive you were being,” your mother tried, and you felt anger boil inside of you again. 

“Destructive?” You asked, voice raised as you pulled every dresser drawer open. “This is not my _home_ , Mother! There is no part of me besides this toy left in this house, and there is certainly no part of Ove, and _you_ are the ones that destroyed that!” You left the wolf back on the bed, turning around fully to face your mother. “I don’t understand,” you told her, wiping blood from your lip. “I don’t understand how you and Father choose to act as though he never existed, and now choose to act as though I have never existed.”

Your mother was shaking from sobs, but even so, you backed away when she reached out to you. “I thought you were _dead,_ ” she croaked, palms rubbing her eyes relentlessly to try and dry them from tears. “I thought I was such a failure as a mother that both of my children had died because of me. I wasn’t home for you two when this house was destroyed, and I sent you away because I didn’t know what else to do.” 

She moved to sit on her bed, shaking too badly to stand any longer, and you watched, eyes growing wider as you took in her weary form. The wrinkles on her forehead had grown deeper, and her frown lines more prominent. She looked tired, and when she finally removed her hands from her eyes they looked so bloodshot that you hardly recognized their brilliant amber. “We couldn’t bear it,” she whispered, and your shoulders and chest fell, no longer on edge. “All we saw in this room was our failure. Both of our children gone, one dead and the other thought dead. We couldn’t–we _couldn’t_ …” As she trailed off, her eyes locked on yours, and you were the first to turn your head the other way. “Oh, my daughter, if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me. It was not my intention to rid of you, just a selfish desire to rid of my guilt.”

The coughing in the other room subsided, and you turned your head to see that Loki was gone from the hall now, leaving you and your mother to be alone. “I don’t hate you,” you muttered, taking a sparing glance at your mother. Relief crossed her face, making you again hide your face in guilt. You hadn’t said the words “I love you” to either of your parents in years, and you still didn’t know if you would be able to say it now. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise, and I wouldn’t have asked Loki to come check on you both.” Your hands were wringing the bottom of your shirt. “I’m alive, Mama. I just don’t know if I could live in this house again. I never saw how you two could do it anyhow. Maybe...Maybe after all of this war is over, I’ll be here more often. Or you can visit me, wherever I’ll be.”

You could see that that wasn’t good enough for your mother, but you had nothing else to offer her. You didn’t want to, you couldn’t, return to the house that had tormented you for years, and you weren’t certain you could tell your parents that you loved them again yet either. That would take time, but seeing now that Loki was actively helping them, and seeing how your mother regret her past actions, you couldn’t rationalize your anger anymore. It was much easier to be angry when you never had to see the person you were angry at, and see how it affected them. 

“Where were you?” She asked, and she was graced with a deep frown from you at the question. “Where did you stay all those years?”

You shrugged. “Here and there. Most of the time I stayed in stables until I was kicked out. Occasionally I was offered a free spot in someone’s house, since I had no money.”

“Where will you go now, then?”

Sighing, you pointed to the door that Loki was on the other side of. You knew that’s what your mother was asking. “With him, depending on if I am put in a cell for treason.”

“Your father will have a heart attack,” she said quietly, and you smiled a little then. Maybe you just wouldn’t tell him.

You told your mother that you were going to go see him then, and when you walked into the room, Loki had his hand pressed against your father’s forehead, a calm look on his face. You walked over to your prince and rested a hand on your shoulder, looking down at your sleeping father. “If he wakes, will he be in pain?” You asked quietly, watching as he took his hand away.

“The coughing and chest pain will probably begin to bother him again,” Loki answered, and you moved closer to him when your mother entered the room behind you. 

_Is there anything else you can do?_ You didn’t want your parents to hear this part of the discussion.

Loki grimaced. _No. It’s beyond my capabilities, but I don’t see him fully recovering._

A weary “oh” left you, and Loki stood from the seat so that you could take it. You did, and you glanced over your father. As much as you felt you could not say that you loved your parents in this moment, seeing your father so sickly made that anger you had towards yourself grow. “Papa,” you said quietly, a gentle hand shaking his arm to wake him. You couldn’t leave without him seeing you had been here. When he woke, he did so with a violent cough, and before you could leave, upset with yourself for causing him pain, Loki pressed his hand to your father’s chest. When the coughing subsided, Loki pulled away fully, and you got the feeling that being healed was not your father’s favorite thing, especially because of whom it came from. 

“He was telling the truth?” 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Yes, Papa,” you answered him. “The Dark Prince is actually quite kind when he wishes to be.” You used the title mockingly. Your father didn’t respond for a long while; he just stared ahead at the wall. You knew not what to say either, and so the room was quiet for once, with only small coughs to fill it. 

_Is he like this?_ you asked Loki, turning to look at him to catch him nod his head. _Fuck_. You weren’t sure if you meant to speak that curse to Loki, but he heard you, and there was just as much pain in his eyes as there was in yours when you stood from the chair. 

“I hope you come back,” your father said suddenly. “For your mother’s sake, at least.” 

“Mama has you,” was your quick response, still conflicted about everything that was happening here. “But I’ll visit again.”

That was the least you could do. At your father’s next movements, you wished you had already walked away. He had managed to sit himself upright, and he held his arms out to you in a gesture that hasn’t been shown in years, not since before Ove’s death. He was _dying_ , how could you deny him any comfort he wished to have, even if it meant you would be dropping too much of your guard? You were hesitant at first, wrapping your arms around him but hardly touching. 

“I am glad you’re alive,” he said, and when he tried to pull you closer you felt just how weak he was, and let yourself hug him back fully. You only pulled away when he began to cough again, using the sleeves of Loki’s coat to wipe your eyes. You knew you couldn’t stay much longer, even if you wished to. Too much time outside of your room could lead to your death. 

“I have to go,” you said, announcing it partly to yourself. When your mother approached you again, you instinctively stiffened, kicking the ground when you remembered it was only a hug she was looking for. One more. Your hug with your mother was shorter, because you had no reason to hold onto her for as long as you held onto your father. When the time came, perhaps you’d overcome the invisible boundaries you had set up with your parents. You had with Loki, after all. 

You were ashamed of it, but as soon as you and Loki were away from your family and headed back to the palace, you had begun to cry. So much so that Loki had stopped Casimir so that he could face you towards him, allowing you to fully rest in his arms the entire way home. The visit was better than what you had expected, and yet worse than you had hoped. Ignorance had you hoping that the memories held in that house wouldn’t bother you this time around, but after all you had been put through, and all aspects of Ove that had been stolen from you, the memories seemed much worse. More vibrant in sickening ways. You told Loki as much, not sure if he could even fully understand you through the loud gasps you had to take every few words. 

“Awful—daughter!” You managed when you had been teleported back into your room, your hands held in front of you as though they were proof of it. “I couldn’t—say I _loved_ them,” you agonized, wondering why you could leave you mother and your dying father without those words being uttered. It was all so different when you were not in front of them; so much easier to question it all now that you didn’t have to see them. 

“In time,” Loki reminded you, sliding the coat off of you and leading you to bed as you continued to babble. He kept you in his arms until you were calm again, and thanked him by hugging him as tightly as you could, which brought a small laugh out of him because you weren’t quite strong enough in the moment to do much. This was beginning to become a frequent occurrence. It seemed each night you two had together was shared in this way, rotating whom it was that was worried this time around. Neither of you would ever have admitted the anxieties you dealt with months ago, and yet now you shared everything, and the other never felt it inconvenient. Years of pent up emotions meant sometimes you were fragile, but that was better than how you lived before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the encouragement. You guys inspire me to keep writing, however unfortunately there will not be a new chapter next week. I have some important tests coming up, and need to keep as much of my focus on those as possible. 
> 
> However, on May 9th I’ll go back to uploading every week. Hope you’ll bear with me, as this only the first time I’ve missed an upload date.


	53. LIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day late, I'm sorry!

“Can you teach me how to throw knives?” 

“You can't use your hands, Love, how are you supposed to learn how to throw knives right now?” Loki asked, keeping you locked in his grasp as he left a soft kiss on the top of your head, as though that would somehow distract you from your boredom. You were playing with one of his hands, trying to fight back every groan that threatened to come out of you. He had long let one of his arms turn entirely blue, as he was comfortable enough with your quiet curiosity about the markings on his skin, and you didn't mind the cold, either. 

“I don't know,” you grumbled, sinking further into the bed. “Are you sure you can stay the whole day without getting in trouble?” He didn't answer. “Loki, if you have to go, it's fine.”

Finally, he shook his head, grabbing onto you even tighter to reaffirm his spot on the bed. “I have no plans to go anywhere,” he hummed, avoiding the answer to your first question and confirming that he _would_ be in trouble. 

An overwhelming urge to ask questions that he could not answer came over you, but you knew that he had heard plenty last night. And yet still, you had to ask something. “Am I at fault?” Letting go of his hand, you continued, “I know I am at fault for the situation I am in with the court, and that is not what I am asking. Is it my fault that my parents threw away my belongings? Did I push them away so much that they thought it was better to pretend they had never had children at all?”

“I know it may not have seemed like it, but your parents’ main concern while I was there alone was _your_ wellbeing. The moment I had mentioned knowing you, they wanted to know everything they possibly could about how their daughter was doing.”

“They could have asked me that then,” you said quietly, and Loki pushed your head forward before reminding you that you had not necessarily given them the opportunity.

“Which is fine,” he urged, this time kissing your cheek. You quickly apologized for your fuss, but he truly didn't need it. “Darling, I know what it is like to have a parent who doesn't love their child the way they should. I do not see that same quality in your parents.” 

“Sorry,” you apologized again, lacing your fingers with his and bringing his hand up to your face to kiss his knuckles.

“Even if I have to continue reassuring you for centuries more, it would not bother me.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting up and turning to face him. “Centuries? That's a _long_ time, Loki.”

“Are you intending on running away before then?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes at the question. That was not at all what you intended on doing. “Does it not at all strike your interest to live out the rest of your life with me?” 

“It does,” you answered. “You know it does. You’ve already enticed me with sitting on a throne, being referred to as the Goddess of Pride, and most importantly, being with you.”

He let out a quiet “ah” as he grew to realize why you had hesitated. It was not because you did not want it, but because you were thinking again about how you did not deserve it, and didn't belong as a member of the royal family. The last thing you wanted was for him to be looked down upon any more because of whom he was in love with. 

“My mother already loves you,” he reminded you quietly, and the corners of your eyes creased. Her approval was far more important than Odin’s to you. “And you already know that my oaf of a brother is mere seconds away from beginning to call you his sister. To him you are already apart of the family.”

“But what of the rest of Asgard?” You asked, searching his eyes for any hesitation, but there was none when he responded.

“You have not let anyone speak foully of me, and I will not allow anyone to do so of you. Asgard will grow fond of you in time...I don't see how anyone could not.”

You couldn't help but kiss him then as a thank you, because his words held truth to them. “Will they be comfortable with a member of the royal family who prefers pants over gowns, or weaponry over jewelry?” You joked, a grin back on your face. 

“ _I_ would be, most definitely,” he said, pinching the sleeve of the tunic you had stolen from him once you had calmed down last night. “Although I'm sure it would be more acceptable if the clothes were tailored to you instead of to me.”

It would be much more appropriate to everyone else, but in the confines of private quarters, you were certain Loki did not mind seeing you in his clothing. You as well had grown so used to it, since you never did get around to buying new clothes before reaching the capital. You had spent much of your time in borrowed pants and shirts from him, even if that meant tying a belt tighter around your waist and rolling the sleeves of your shirt and the legs of your pants. You much preferred his clothing over Lady Sif’s as well, because his was made of a softer material and incorporated colors you were much fonder of. Though there were memories of old clothing that reminded you of how much you used to hate wearing green. 

“Can they still be in your colors?” You asked, lifting your arms to show the green and gold design that now represented someone you loved so much. 

“Well, naturally that would be a must. It would be unseemly if you chose to wear any others.”

“Then when a special occasion comes around, I expect a new wardrobe,” you teased. Even if that was something possible for the God to gift to you, you did not expect it, nor truly desire it. You were perfectly content with your current dress. 

As Loki’s brows pushed down, and his mouth fell into a small frown, your own expression fell too. “When were you born?”

“The twelfth of Harpa,” you answered, tilting your head as he frowned even further. “It passed, I know,” you said, before he could even complain about you not mentioning it before. It was never something you felt the need to mention to anyone, nor did you want the celebration. The way you looked at it, if you were to celebrate every year of your life it would grow far too boring. Not to mention, “I haven't celebrated my day of birth since after my brother’s death. I never saw the point it if he was not there to be with me like he usually was. And my parents were too caught up in everything to ever make an effort, so…” 

So it was best you never mentioned it. You knew when the day was, and you _felt_ when it was as well. It was as though a pit you had tried to fill had emptied out again. Every year you glanced at the letter from your brother, and every year you told yourself that that was not a gift you could have yet, and it still wasn't. Not yet, anyway. But maybe soon. 

“Do you ever wish to?”

“Do you celebrate your own?” You asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

“No.” 

No, because doing so hurt him just a little. He truly did not know when he was born, after all. He didn't even know his biological mother. Frigga was and will forever be his _real_ mother, but there was still something that made him uncomfortable about taking part in a lie. You felt your own day of birth was a lie as well, if not in a different way from him. 

“There is no reason to celebrate mine. I think even after my brother’s letter can be read, I will still ignore the day and treat it as any other. We are in this realm for centuries; thanking the stars for each year seems too pesky of a task,” you explained.

Rather than respond, Loki gently tapped your arm, silently asking you to move off of him. You did so, shifting to another part of the bed and sitting cross-legged so that he could do whatever it was he had his mind set on. He walked over to the pile of books you had left on the desk, moving some of them aside to grab the small book of poetry. That one you had actually read some of, because the poems were similar to your brother’s favorites. He conjured up a pen, sitting back on the edge of the bed. You pushed yourself over to him, leaning over his shoulder with a small frown.

“Are you really going to write in one of your favorite books?” You asked, not seeing him as the type to mark anything up. 

“There's always another copy in the realm,” he said, tilting his body away from you so that his writing would be obscured to you. “There.” He shut the book and passed it back to you, and you opened it back up immediately.

“Sorry, what?” All that was written was an upcoming date, along with a few page numbers. When you tried to flip to the first page, Loki quickly placed his hand on the book to stop you from doing so, only making your confusion grow.

“Don't read those yet,” he said, a bit of urgency in his voice. “Since neither of us like to celebrate our days of birth, the date there can serve as a replacement. That way there are no guilty or lonesome feelings attached, and I can still have an excuse to spoil you for a day. I don't want you to read those poems until that day though, otherwise it would not be as meaningful.”

“Such a romantic,” you cooed jokingly, curling his hair around your finger and kissing his cheek. The way your teasing brought a small tinge of pink to his cheeks made you grin. “This means I can do something for you as well though, right?”

He nodded. “If you would like to.”

He almost seemed sheepish about the idea of you doing something special for him, and immediately you decided for the day to be as great as it could be for him. If he was ever denied a proper celebration of his life, you could hopefully begin to make up for it. You glanced at the date on the page again, committing it to memory to ensure you would never forget it. He didn't choose a date too close to the ongoing trials, but there was still the possibility that the war will not have ended.

“What if I am in a cell?” You asked, hardly wanting him to respond. “I cannot do much for you if that becomes the case. And then the day will just be for naught.” He didn't respond, just made a stubborn noise in his throat that told you everything you needed to know. You would not be in a cell, and even if you were he would find a way to make the day special. But more importantly, that noise spoke for the former. “Understood,” you muttered, taking the book from his hands again and occupying yourself by putting it away. 

You really had to work on keeping your doubts to yourself sometimes. Looking over your shoulder at the slightly worried look on Loki’s face made you entirely aware that sometimes your comments made him upset, because you knew he just wished you would be more positive about the whole situation. You laughed a little to yourself at that, wondering why, out of the two of you, it was Loki who was the most optimistic. Both of you were still cynical as hell, but apparently you were more so. 

“That's the last time I'll mention being put in a…” 

_I am not telling you!_

Loki was on his feet as soon as your eyes glazed over gold, grabbing you before you could fall to the floor. 

_Leave!_

A cry of pain rang in your ears, but your body wasn't responding to anything, just lying limp in Loki’s arms. He brought you carefully to the floor, resting your head on his lap in fear that you'd hurt yourself.

_Stop, please. Don't make me—_

With a gasp, you sat upright, eyes beginning to shift back to their normal color. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, your arms lined with goosebumps. 

“Are you okay?” 

You didn't know. Were you? You held your head in your hands as you waited for the headache to pass. 

“May I?” 

You nodded. That was something you desperately needed right now. He reached around and pressed his hand against your chest, breathing more magic into you and easing you of the pain. Both of you remained silent, and you leaned your head back onto his chest and just tried to focus on your breathing. Whatever that was _hurt_ , and your body was only beginning to calm down due to Loki’s healing powers. It took ten minutes for your heart to return to its normal rate, and only then did Loki stop healing you. Concern laced his featured even while he knew that you were now, at least physically, fine. 

“What happened?” Loki asked, finding your hands so that he could hold them in his. The comfort was welcome. 

“I don't…” You _didn't_ know. You didn't know how to answer him, and you had no idea what those words alluded to. “I saw nothing. I just...I just heard someone speaking, and they were panicked. But, I don't remember.” Stars, what was the voice saying? All you could remember now was blurred syllables that formed incomprehensible sounds. Your shoulders slumped, and you gave up on momentarily on trying to make sense of it. “It was painful,” you told him quietly. What you could understand was that your heart had felt like it was being ripped out. Your whole chest felt as though it was being compressed by a hefty weight. 

“Do you feel alright now?”

You saw in his eyes that he was willing to take any pain away that he could, but you nodded before he could whither away any more of his energy. “I'm fine now.” And you mostly were, because you stood slowly to your feet, Loki quickly standing beside you to help you balance. “What was that?”

Loki shook his head, his lips a thin line. “I am not entirely sure. I wondered briefly if it was because of my magic in you, but it was my magic that took your pain away. And it's not as though you are going through a withdrawal of sorts, either. I helped you sleep just last night.”

He led you back to sit on the bed, neither of you saying anything more about the sudden attack. Your mind still wouldn't quiet down, and you were focusing on that rather than on making conversation. After a few minutes, Loki has swiftly started talking again, bringing up the idea of speaking to another sorcerer about the event. He mentioned Nevin, saying that he would talk to the bastard for the sake of you, but that he doubted the man would provide any useful information. 

“Leave,” you said suddenly, and Loki frowned. “That's something I heard. Leave.”

“Was it perhaps about the guards when they came into your room?” 

Could be. You narrowed your eyes, staring at the door in front of you. You _had_ screamed for them to leave, but why had that come back to you so violently? Was the stress of that event so large that your body would go into shock even days after? 

“Yeah, maybe,” you agreed, fiddling with your fingers as you tried to reason with yourself. “I don't know what else it would be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: You guys are amazing for being so okay with me taking a short step away from writing. Thank you.
> 
> Second: You guys can thank your fellow readers because they really stopped me from jumping right back into pain.
> 
> Third: However, I can't write pure fluff chapters unless they set forward a plot, so have fun with that cliffhanger. ;)
> 
> Tumblr: SeekerOfValhalla (send me a message or an ask!)


	54. LIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief warning: graphic depictions of violence.
> 
> As always with this fic, but it's going to pick up a bit again and so I figured a warning might be useful once more.

“Are you on Odin’s side or mine?”

Loki placed his forehead in his hands, having long decided he was better off sitting on the bed as you paced around the room in blind anger. “I am, of _course_ , on your side,” he pressed, but you just crossed your arms and tapped your foot on the ground, because that answer wasn't good enough. In fact, no answer was good enough unless it involved him helping you sneak out of the room to Fritjof’s trial. “Do you know how dangerous it would be for you to sneak out? You'd be imprisoned immediately, and you can forget about Odin ever reconsidering.”

“Not if I don't get caught,” was your immediate response, which further caused Loki to realize that convincing you otherwise was a hopeless cause. 

“I am not helping you escape. If you truly wish to, you will find a way to do so yourself, though I _beg_ of you not to.” Your angry look faltered for a moment, replaced by curiosity and confusion at the idea of him begging, but you quickly controlled your gaze. “Please do not do anything too rash, Love.” 

Ah. Fuck. That soft gaze and pleading words were what he meant by beg. You getting caught meant that perhaps he would be alone again, and you never wanted to leave him that way after the conversation last night. “Sorry,” you said quietly, walking over to him to give him an apology kiss. “I swore I'm not going anywhere.” You would cut down anyone who tried to take you from him. “I'm keeping that promise still, but I need to be there for this trial. I want to see what lies he speaks.”

Loki took your hands in his, his leg nervously bouncing on and off of the ground. “Then you must also promise to stay wherever you hide. If anyone sees you—”

“No one will,” you said quickly.

“What if you pass out again, the way you did two days ago?”

“I haven't passed out since,” you said, frowning a little at the thought of it happening again. But since the event, you hadn't passed out, or experienced anything like it again. And you had no reason for your eyes to turn either, because most of the time you were happy to be with Loki. “I do not think I will, and if I cannot keep my anger under control, you have permission to cut my tongue out for lying,” you said, making an X over your heart. It was a warrior’s way of swearing that they were not fibbing, but Loki found the thought of it distasteful.

“But then I'd miss out on so many conversations,” he said with a shake of his head, and that was his way of agreeing, or at least not arguing for any longer, to you sneaking out of the room.

You gave him a look that perfectly read that you really didn't care whether or not he was pleased at the moment. You had to do what you needed to, even if he thought it was a horrendous idea. “I'll be fine,” you said again, but he still didn't seem to fully agree. But you _would_ be fine. You would keep your emotions under check, and no one else would see you, either.

 

“You sit here today on trial for the burning and pillaging of thirty-three different villages within our realm.”

Pulling your scarf tighter around your head, you moved through the crowd silently, blending in as you pushed yourself further into the thick of it all. Thankfully, you could still see Fritjof, and hear everything in the room perfectly fine.

“Years ago, your father stood on trial for murdering a family, and he was sentenced to death,” Odin said, and Fritjof’s grin quickly morphed into a twisted scowl, his whole body tensing at the mention of it. Briefly, you looked away, because that was the same way he looked while reciting the story to you. “You told someone that it wasn't truly him who murdered the family, so who _was_ it?”

Fritjof bit his cheek, looking through the crowd briefly as he seemed to assess what the best answer would be, or what the most rousing answer would be. “I only told the whore that story,” he said finally, and you were forced to look down at your feet to hide the sure glow of your eyes.

Fuck him. You were already seething at such a simple comment, and it made you angrier knowing that Odin had called you the same slur earlier. 

“Then speak it again now,” Odin ordered, never in the mood for an attitude. 

“My mother killed them, not my father,” Fritjof clarified, and you still had no way of knowing if he was lying. “And when we got home, my mother whipped me for crying at the execution.”

“You would have scars from that,” Frigga urged, and Fritjof shifted in his seat to remind them all that his wrists and ankles were chained together. 

“Then someone can come here and lift my shirt.”

No one wanted to. Truly, not even the guard who was ordered to wanted to go anywhere near Fritjof. Not after all that he had done to the realm. In a few minutes, the guard had Fritjof standing with his back to the royal family, and he lifted the barbarian prince’s shirt up. You grit your teeth at the long scars that covered his back. He was either telling the truth, or he was such a masochist that he had someone else do that to him. It was much more likely to be the former, though not as convenient.

Odin sat back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the armrests as though the information changed everything, when in reality it changed very little. It only confirmed Fritjof’s motivations. “And what of you torturing one of the soldiers? Is what they said true?”

You tilted your head back, eyes closed. You didn't think you could listen to this. 

“Can't refer to her as her name? Or as her brother’s?” He asked, a grin slowly coming back to his face that unsettled you. “There's only two or so warriors that I had the pleasure of torturing. The one who is now missing an eye, and the necromancer, but I know it is the latter you are talking about.”

“Necromancer?” Odin asked, and Loki shifted his jaw as he tried not to move from his seat. The whole court was soon to know that Loki had broken a rule as well.

Fritjof leered, “You don't _know_? She conveniently left these details out? She died. I crushed her throat in my hands and watched the life leave her, and I told that old bastard,” he pointed to Nevin, “to bring her back. The bitch came back, unfortunately, but he claimed he had nothing to do with it. Conjuring someone up from the dead is apparently too much for an ordinary sorcerer. Surely the bruises on her neck were still visible by the time she arrived here.”

He wasn't through. No, he had just begun. He was brimming with a sick excitement that came with attempting to have you executed. “How do you think the rest of the army found her, you old hag?” 

Odin didn't even yell at him for the insult; he just wanted to hear the rest.

“She can communicate like the rest of them, and the Dark Prince answered her cries for help.” 

“I would feel it,” Frigga muttered, not understanding how she wouldn't be able to see the magic in you the way she could in others. 

“She can't do anything other than revive herself and talk. If she could she would have used those powers. But all she could do was writhe in the chair I chained her too, babbling on about how she didn't want me to destroy her brother’s belongings, and screaming when I stabbed her, or sliced through her skin.” 

You were certain you were going to vomit. Your whole body felt it was on fire, every word of his igniting a memory that triggered pain and a sense of hopelessness. Your breathing quickened, and you tried to wrap the scarf tighter around your mouth to keep your hyperventilating from being too loud.

Fritjof shivered. “Have you ever heard her scream? It's truly moving. If you wished, I could provide a demonstration. I'm sure if I had only a day more she'd be entirely obedient. The things you could—”

“ _Enough!_ ” Loki screamed, not willing to listen to any more of Fritjof’s sickening ideas. 

Fritjof just laughed, rattling the chains on his wrist as he clapped his hands together. “I promise I'll let you hear and see her next time, Prince Loki.”

You didn't know how you were going to get out without someone seeing the glow of your eyes. You held your hand up to your face, pretending to cough, and you could see the glow reflecting onto your hand. 

“There will not be a _next time_ ,” was Loki’s scathing response, his restraint evident by the way his throat was strained. He had so much more to say, but if he said it now, it would perhaps cause more trouble. 

“She’ll die by me or him,” Fritjof said, gesturing to Odin. “She won't ever reach old age.”

This time, Odin cut in. “That is enough. You will not taunt us during your own trial. What is your _goal_ , Fritjof? What were you hoping to achieve by all of this?”

“I want your wife dead,” Fritjof said, and Odin was instantly red in the face. “Public execution would be ideal, but we could always work something else out. I also want the women of Asgard to be stripped of their ability to fight as a soldier, and any position of power. They are not equals to us, Allfather, surely you know that much.” You peaked through your hands to look at Fritjof, and at that moment, you swore he was looking right at you. “There are some who think they are, but they’ll just have to break first.”

He smiled at you then, and you froze for a moment, too shocked to even cover your eyes. Would he point you out to everyone else? You sucked in a sharp breath, and Loki followed Fritjof’s gaze to you and gave you a silent warning to leave, or at least cover your eyes and move somewhere else.

“Miss? Are you alright?” Someone asked, placing their hand on your shoulder and looking at you with concern apparent in their eyes. 

You covered your eyes quickly with your hands, not having to do much extra to make it look like you were crying. Your shoulders were already shaking anyway. “I-I'm sorry,” you apologized, voice muffled by your fake sniffles. “He just–He killed my mother,” you lied, waving him off the best you could, as you tried to move your way through the crowd without being too pushy. You bit your tongue as the man kept following you towards the door, continuously offering you help that you did not need. 

“Let me help,” he whispered to you. “I'm sorry, my wife...she is still not over her mother’s death,” he told a guard who looked at you, placing his hand on your back as he led you out of the courtroom. No one seemed to notice the two of you leave, and for that, you were grateful. Still unable to shake the man, he led you down a quiet corridor. “It's fine.”

“I-I can go on my own,” you said quietly, still keeping up the act. 

“I'm a sorcerer from Hjarta, Miss,” the man spoke, and you slowly dropped your hands from your eyes so that you could look at him. “I could feel the magic because I was so close to you. Do you need help to get back to your room without being noticed?” You dropped your hands from your eyes, deeming it safe to look at him even while they were still glowing. He looked put off for just a moment because of your eyes before he smiled at you. “I have a son...so it is the least I could do.”

“Can you teleport me back to the room?” You asked quietly, looking around to make sure no one was listening. 

“If you imagine it, I feel you should be able to help me get you there, yes,” he answered, offering you his hand. Hesitantly, you took it, because the kindness in his eyes told you that he could be trusted. “Imagine it now, please.”

You shut your eyes to imagine the room, and in a moment you felt the transition from the hall to the room. You opened your eyes and dropped the man’s hand from yours, shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you,” you told him, and he just shrugged.

“It is not at all a problem. I owed you and I still owe you now. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

With just a simple shake of your head, you told him that he didn't need to stay any longer. The moment he was gone, you collapsed onto the bed, unwrapping the scarf from your face. You stayed like that for nearly an hour, on the verge of panicking if you didn't give yourself time to recover. But when you were done sitting around and were certain your emotions were in check, you stood up quickly, moving towards the bathroom mirror. You stared at your face, peeling open your eyelids to get a better look at your eyes. You tried to tell if there was a difference you could spot without the gold, but everything looked entirely the same. 

“Okay,” you said to yourself, trying to think of ways to test Loki’s theory out. You already knew it didn't happen when you were felt a positive emotion, which was great, because you weren't capable of that at the moment. “Anger, fear, pain,” you muttered. You knew you could at least induce two of those. Fear may be a little more difficult. 

“Anger,” you repeated to yourself, and that was easy to accomplish. Hell, you were already angry as it was. You just had to elevate it a bit more. “He called me a whore,” you commented, crossing your arms in front of you and watching your reflection in the mirror. “Mocked me for my brother’s belongings. Odin called me a whore.” Apparently that sparked more anger than Fritjof's own use of the word, because your eyes shifted slightly. “And the fucker probably won't even kill Fritjof yet. Maybe he’ll postpone _that_ too.”

Yeah, that did it, because your eyes were glazed over gold. They weren't glowing like they were previously, but you doubted you could rile yourself up that much. You also didn't want to experience that again. Too much trauma. You tilted your head at your reflection, recognizing that now you would have to give yourself time to calm down again. Walking away from the mirror, you picked up one of Loki’s books and began reading, letting your mind focus on the words instead of on your emotions. 

When you were certain you were calm, you stood to do the part of all of this that you were least excited for. Walking back to the mirror, you held your arm in front of you, pinching your nails into your skin and achieving a quick flash of gold. That wasn't what you were looking for though. Loki was going to murder you for it, but you used your teeth to pull at the knots he made in the bandages, and began to unravel your hands. You rinsed the salve off in the sink, and grimaced at the cut on your wrist. You took a deep breath, knowing that this was significantly less dangerous and painful than doing what you were going to do to the cut on your abdomen. Carefully, you ripped out the stitches, quickly looking up after every time you saw a flash of gold. 

“Okay,” you said again, closing your eyes, but knowing that you couldn't keep them closed for what you had to do. “I've been through worse,” you reasoned, looking at the edge of the countertop. Thinking better of the noise you were most likely going to make, you grabbed a nearby cloth, shoving it between your teeth and biting down harshly on it. After four more breaths, you raised your hand to your chest, swiftly jamming the cut on your wrist down onto the edge. Your fingers twitched and your eyes watered at the pain, your shout muffled by the cloth.

When you looked up at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes were a fierce glow, and thank the stars too, because that meant that the pain was enough to make that happen. You lifted your wrist up from the counter, spitting out the cloth when you no longer had to bite down on it. Looking down at the open cut, you squinted, able to spot your muscular fibers beginning to fuse back together. “Holy shit,” you muttered, watching until your eyes stopped glowing and the healing stopped taking place. You could heal, but it stopped as soon as the pain dulled down. Pressing a finger back into the cut, you hissed, and sure enough, your body began to heal again. 

“That's it!” You shouted, a grin on your face that quickly fell when you saw a puff of green in the room. You chanted curse words, attempting to close the door before Loki got there, but cringed as you nearly slammed the door on his fingers.

“What are you hiding?” He asked, sounding utterly exasperated. 

“Nothing,” you told him, but your eyes still held a faint glow. 

He easily pushed the door open, eyes widening when he saw your bloodied wrist. His eyes scanned the room, and he pointed at the edge of the countertop when he saw the aftermath of what you had done. “What did you _do_?” He asked, less angry and more concerned about why you would hurt yourself. 

“Figured it out,” you said, stepping away from the door and back to the countertop. “Look, watch.” You went to jam your wrist back against the counter, but Loki’s arms wrapped around you and pulled you away. 

“You can _tell_ me rather than _show_ me.” He set you back down away from the counter, already trying to grab your hands back from you so that he could bandage them yet again. 

“I tested my eyes,” you began, glancing away from him so that you didn't have to look at his face. “They were glowing during the trial, Loki. So I got in here and made myself angry, and my eyes turned gold. Then I pinched myself, and there was a flash. But when I slammed my wrist against the edge of the countertop, they glowed.” That sounded much more crazy than it did in your head. “My wrist started healing while I was in pain, but stopped when it wasn't as bad. So I stuck my finger in the cut and it healed a bit more.”

“You're insane,” he muttered, briefly resting his head on your shoulder. 

“ _But_ , I found out why my body heals. It only does it if I'm in pain or emotional turmoil, and that's why my eyes turn gold. It's healing me, or attempting to. Maybe that's why when I died, my body was able to bring me back. Because if I was dying, I would have been in enough pain to get it to act.”

“If that is true, can we not attempt to experiment with it again?” He begged, and you nodded. You learned what you wanted to anyway.

“No more experimenting, but on one condition,” you said, not even waiting for him to agree. “What was the outcome? Will Fritjof be executed?”

Loki didn't answer right away, but did press his hands on your shoulders when your eyes began to glow. “Come talk in the other room,” he said, but you knew he just wanted you away from any mirrors or edges that you could hurt yourself on again. Either way, you let him walk you back to the bed. “He will be executed,” Loki confirmed, and you bit your tongue. “But it will be in a week’s time, and the decision about you will come before then.”

“He won't kill me anymore, right? He _knows_ what Fritjof did to me, how could he?” Loki pulled you down to sit next to him, hugging you to him as your shoulders began to shake again. “It's my eyes,” you said, not needing Loki’s nod of confirmation. “It's my eyes, it's because Fritjof told him I can raise myself up from the dead. But I don't know if I could, Loki. I don't know if I could do it if my head was cut off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end, folks, and I kind of hate to say it.
> 
> Also does that ending count as a cliffhanger? I don't really think so but you guys probably will. Sorry.
> 
> As always though, thank you so much for the love and support. 
> 
> Tumblr: SeekerOfValhalla


	55. LV

Once again, you were bored of being _bored_. Since your experimentation with your wrist, you figured out that you damaged your nerves a little more than you had wanted to, which caused muscle spasms intermittently. For the most part, you didn't notice them, because Loki had bandaged your wrists so well that this time you were sure you would never be able to undo the knots yourself. Every now and then though, the spasm interrupted the few things you could do, like read. And right now, you had accidentally ripped part of the page because of it.

“Fuck you,” you cursed, tossing the book to the end of the bed as though it was the object’s fault. 

Odin decided that tonight was cause for celebration, but of course, you were not invited nor would you have wanted to go. Fritjof’s execution was to be in a day, so it seemed impractical to celebrate early. But more than likely, Odin wanted to let Fritjof know just how happy the rest of the realm would be once he was dead. It was rubbing salt in a wound that wasn't even cut open yet. 

It was mandatory for Loki to attend the celebration, but he had told you that he would try to escape as soon as possible to come spend time with you for the rest of the night. Still, knowing what Odin does about Loki and you, you doubted he would be free to leave at all during the party. He would probably be kept near Frigga’s side the whole time, although then he would at least have someone to converse with. Asger and Bjarke, too, would not be allowed to come see you, as you hadn't had a chance to meet with them since after your trial. Ever since Fritjof’s announcement about your eyes, the whole hallway had been blocked off. Loki only ever got inside of your room because of his magic. Otherwise, Odin intended on keeping you as separated as possible. 

When the knock at your door came ten minutes later, you were only mildly surprised. The maid was to bring you meals twice a day, but the second meal had already come. Still, she seemed to enjoy your company, and you enjoyed hers, so perhaps she was just coming to say hello again. You opened the door slowly, poking your head out and glaring up at the guards before smiling at the maid. In her hand was a tray of dessert and a glass of pomegranate juice (hopefully infused with alcohol) and she laughed at how wide your eyes became.

“What's this?” You asked her, stepping aside so that she could enter the room. “You already brought me my usual tonight…” You were _truly_ sick of the bread, apple, and chicken meal. 

“I know,” she said, setting the tray down on your desk and smiling proudly. “But your friends asked if I could bring these to you. They felt bad about you not being able to celebrate with them.”

“There's nothing to celebrate,” was your quick response, but your readjusted your attitude immediately, knowing there was no need for it now. “That was nice of them, though. Was it Asger and Bjarke?” 

You hoped it was, but the maid tilted her head and shrugged. “It was a small, friendly group that put it together, but I unfortunately didn't catch any of their names.”

You waved it off. If she couldn't remember, then there truly wasn't a need to know. Most likely, Asger and Bjarke played a part in it. “Thank you either way then for bringing it,” you said, and she politely dismissed herself from the room once she saw you eyeing up the piece of cheesecake and the berries that accompanied it. 

“Bark and Ass are worth something!” You said excitedly, taking the plate and the juice over to your bed so you could be fully relaxed as you ate. It was hardly even ten minutes later when you were entirely finished, and you wished the food induced bliss would stay with you until the end of the party. 

You reached over to the glass of juice, drinking the last of it down. You set the glass away from you quickly when a cough built up, and you cursed as it continued. “Stupid,” you muttered between coughs, wondering why it was so easy to choke on anything and everything. But this felt like more than just _choking_ , because your coughs wouldn't stop even when you went to the sink to dump water down your throat in an attempt to stop the burning. 

You rested a hand on your chest as you continued to cough, and your mind began to swim as you felt bile rise up in your throat. Leaning over the toilet, you vomited, and when you wiped your mouth you nearly screamed. Blood. Most of what you threw up was blood, and it was far more than you had ever coughed out when the arrows were still embedded in you. 

“What the fuck,” you whispered, trying to push yourself up when bile rose up in your throat again. 

_Get off!_

You managed to swallow the acid and blood down, burning your throat. 

_Stop it! Stop!_

A violent twitch jerked its way through you, weakening your muscles until you fell to the ground.

_Stand down! You have no right—_

_Don't hurt him, please! Please have mercy._

Your back arched off of the ground, eyes glowing so bright that they burned. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, your body and mind searing in pain. 

_Mother, it will—_

Your body fell completely, your back hitting the ground as this time you were unable to fight the blood rising in your throat. You were brought back by the blood you coughed onto your hands and onto your clothes, but you were so panicked that it was difficult to stand. Rolling onto your stomach, you cried out in pain, using the counter to help lift yourself up. You caught a look at yourself in the mirror then, blood smeared across your chin and cheeks and eyes bright gold. There was blood seeping from your abdomen, and your fingers desperately grasped at the fabric to pull your shirt up. The stitches in your fresh wound were undone, but that was not the only part of you that had begun to bleed again. Your fingers grazed over the arrow wounds, twitching away the moment you registered that they were no longer healed. 

The sound of the door being pushed open made you turn your head and drop your shirt. There were no weapons in the room. Just a dagger that Loki had hidden in the desk, and you were not near enough to the desk to grab it. 

“Where's the Warg?” Your stomach dropped. Fiske. You didn't even have time to move before he rounded the corner and grinned at you. “Feeling okay?” He asked, and you sneered.

“What's going on, Fiske?” You hissed. “What did he do? What did you do?”

“We thought you'd enjoy the desserts we brought, and the drink,” he continued, stepping into the bathroom and reaching to grab you. You used your arm to block him, stepping quickly back to balance yourself. “Ove, I never thought you were fit to be a soldier, and look at you now. You should have taken my insults as warnings.”

It didn't take much effort until he had his hand gripped in your hair as he pulled you towards the door. When you exited the room, you struggled more, staring down at the guards who were killed right by your door. 

“Stop moving,” Fiske hissed, yanking your head back so that you looked straight ahead. He stopped walking for a moment, staring at you. “Your nose is bleeding,” he told you then, almost as if it was courteous to do so. You brought your hand to your nose to check as he pushed you along again, and when you pulled away to stare at your hand, he was right. And it wasn't a slow drip, either. You should have been able to know from the taste of iron in your mouth, but you had assumed that that was from throwing up. 

The closer you got to the throne room, the more chaos there was, but everyone seemed to move around you. The screams that reached your ears _hurt_ , because they weren't screams from fallen soldiers but screams from people who didn't have a reason to die. Civilians who were just at the castle celebrating, servants who were just trying to do their job. Your mouth ran dry as you thought about the kindly maid who had only just brought you the tray of food, which you now knew was from Fiske, not Asger or Bjarke. 

_Stop!_

The scream was so piercing that rather than try and pull yourself away from Fiske, you pressed your hands against your ears. 

“Grab her other arm, she's dragging,” Fiske muttered, and another traitor did as he was told. 

“Her eyes again,” the other said. “Shouldn't that have stopped?”

You glanced up at the men, mouth open in a silent question. They couldn't hear the screams you did. They weren't even flinching. Of course. They couldn't hear it the way you could. It was Pirko screaming; the pain and desperation was too familiar to when she almost saw Maksim die. But why wasn't she screaming for everyone to hear? Why was it only you hearing her?

“Pirko,” you whispered, and Fiske pulled you up to ask if you wanted to speak more clearly. You pressed your lips into a thin line. There was no need to explain any of it to him when he could just use it towards Fritjof’s advantage. 

Then…

Was it Pirko you had heard scream the first time you passed out?

You reached out, ripping yourself from the other man’s grip so that you could grab Fiske by the neck. “What did you _do to her?_ ” You hissed. 

“I didn't do anything to her,” Fiske yelled back, shoving you off of him easily. “Don't mistake me with him, Warg. I don't hurt children.”

“Then why did she scream?”

“We threatened her,” was his simple response, but your attention was drawn away from him before you could snap at him again. 

“You didn't hurt her too bad, did you?” Fritjof asked, seated in the throne where Odin should have been. 

Fiske dropped you from his grasp, and you fell to the floor, but damned if you stayed there. You pushed yourself back up onto your feet, once again wiping blood from your face and flicking it onto the floors. The white marble was a striking contrast to the red pools from nearby bodies. 

“The drink did that to her, not me.”

Fritjof grinned at that, leaning forward in his seat. His hands were covered in red, and splotches decorated his face. “Really?” He asked, intrigued. “So that little bitch knew how she was living this entire time.”

You sneered at the language used in reference to Pirko. “Where is she now, Fritjof?” You screamed the question at him, each word followed by a step closer to the throne where he sat. “Where _is_ she?” _And Loki_ , you wanted to add, but you had more confidence in him than you did in the girl, and it was her screams that deafened you. 

“Kneel first,” Fritjof said calmly, and your jaw fell slack. 

“Kneel?” You hissed, pointing to the ground in front of you. “You’re no king. I bow my head to Odin because it is law, but I will never kneel to you.” He commanded you next, more edge to his voice. You were pissing him off again. Perhaps that was good. “Fuck you,” you spit, and that was enough to make him rise from his seat. 

He could take everything from you, and you still would not kneel.

“How was it in the crowd when you heard me speaking of your hasterics?” Fritjof asked, walking down towards you. You would have backed away, but it would have given away your fear as well. “You looked like you were going to have a fit right there,” he taunted, and you stood still as he grabbed your face and pressed his fingers painfully into your jaw. Just as you had done before, you spat blood in his face, remembering the way it irritated him so much. “Whore,” he cursed, his hand slipping down to your neck. He held it tightly, but didn't restrict your breathing. Yet. Not yet. Fritjof always had more ways of toying with his victims before killing them. 

“Perhaps you need an audience to encourage you to behave properly.”

You stopped breathing when both Pirko and Loki were brought into the room. Pirko had fresh bruises across her skin, and was wearing a gag to prevent her from screaming. It was so tight that it bit into her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Loki was gagged as well, but there were no chains around his wrists or ankles, but Fritjof must have figured he didn't need one anymore. 

“What did you do?” You managed, tears welling up in your eyes as you tried to twist out of his grip. 

Loki’s eyes were red, and beneath his collar you could see that his throat was a dark purple. On his hands you could see his Jotun markings, and every time someone moved him his eyes closed in pain. There was still fury present in his eyes, and that was the only thing preventing you from believing him to be entirely worn down. 

“It's only punishment for using a forbidden spell on you,” Fritjof explained. 

_Loki, I'm sorry_ , you tried to tell him, but no response came. _Pirko!_ You called, but she didn't even look at you. 

Fritjof let go of your throat momentarily, walking over to Loki. When he reached out to grab Loki’s face the way he had grabbed yours, your prince’s hands flinched, but didn't move. You ran to him then, and Fritjof just stepped out of the way to watch.

“Loki,” you whispered, touching his face gently and gasping at how hot he felt. He bent slightly, and at the sight of the hilt stuck in his back you nearly screamed. “What did you do?” You shouted again at Fritjof, and in a rage you went to pull the dagger from his back. You flinched back, the hilt burning through your bandages and singeing your fingers. 

Before you could try again, Fritjof’s elbow came down on your collarbone, and your failing body took the blow more harshly than it normally would have. He kicked the backs of your knees then, and you heard the excited hitch in his breath when you dropped down. “Next time, you’ll kneel willingly,” he told you, but you didn't try to stand, too distracted by the agony on Loki’s face. “Frost giants are weak to heat. I threw the dagger in a fire before stabbing it into his back. He can't even fight it yet.”

Your eyebrows knit together. _Loki_ , you pleaded, _I need help_. You needed a plan. But you sank back as he didn't respond, hands falling to the floor beside you. 

Your wounds weren't healing.

He couldn't hear you.

What was left of the magic Loki had bestowed to you?

Fritjof’s hands were on your face again, smearing your own blood further across it. “Are you feeling hopeless again, Ove?” 

You hated that he used your brother’s name to taunt you now. That was never the purpose of the alias. 

“Your comrades were so nice as to help me and my friends get out of our cells. They knew they were better off working with me.” You heard the sound of arrows leaving their bows and whipping through the air, followed by choking noises, but you didn't tear your gaze from Loki. He was silently begging you not to. “Pity I can't trust them.”

Finally, Fritjof backed away from you, but stepped closer to Loki. The barbarian stood behind the prince, unlocking the muzzle and tossing it to the side. “Just _listen_ ,” Fritjof told you, and the restrained screams of pain that left Loki as Fritjof pulled the dagger from his back made you sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end, folks.
> 
> Sincerest apologies for putting Loki through the wringer too, but I can't ALWAYS just pick on Ove. 
> 
> Thank you so much for 1200+ kudos! I still can't believe that this story has almost been around for a year, and that so many people have read it. I'll be sad when the journey is over.


	56. LVI

“Stop! _Stop!_ ” Your voice broke with your pleads when Fritjof seemed eager to replace the knife in Loki’s back. In a moment, you were on your feet again, wrestling to pull the knife away from him. “You will _not_ hurt him anymore,” you grit, kicking his legs out from under him. When he fell, you fell with him, and you held one arm to his throat and used the other to pin his wrist down. And again, no one else interfered. They all had you pinned as Fritjof’s target, not theirs. 

“I know your name now,” Fritjof told you, his free hand gripping your side where you were bleeding. When you flinched in pain, he flipped you off of him, crashing your back down against the floor. “It can go right next to your brother’s.”

Your heart was going to break out of your chest with how hard it was pumping. All you could taste was blood, and all you could feel was the burning in your abdomen. How you even got so far as to knock him off of Loki, you didn't know. You had to breathe out of your mouth to even get a little air in, as your nose was so clogged up with blood that it just bubbled up. You looked pathetic, you felt pathetic, and that's exactly what Fritjof was so proud of. You were broken, or at least close enough to it that he felt he had completed his goal. 

Food was left uneaten. Tables were upturned. The entire palace was in ruins. Hundreds were dead. Music had long since stopped. Loki was hurting, every muscle of his trying to combat against the heat of the blade that was embedded in him. You had no magic left, leaving your body vulnerable to every wound that should have killed you long ago. But when Fritjof stepped on your throat, there was a spark in the mixture of choking and gurgling. 

As quickly as it came, it was gone.

But so was the pressure on your throat. 

Your eyes snapped back open, and you would have smiled if there was still not more to deal with. Asger tossed Fritjof to the floor while he was distracted, and Bjarke grabbed you by your arms and tugged you onto your feet, letting you use him for balance. At the entrance to the room was Thor, expertly swinging Mjolnir into oncoming enemies to keep them away from the rest of you. 

“Where were you?” You managed to ask, carefully letting go of him so that you could try and help Loki and Pirko. 

“We were caught up,” Bjarke said, glancing over at Asger and Fritjof nervously. “They were attacking us in the dining hall. Loki took the girl out because he thought it would be safer.”

It wasn't. You wished it was.

“I’m fine,” Loki assured you when you instinctively went to help him first. Nodding, you instead worked on taking the gag off of Pirko. 

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor—”

“Pirko,” you cut her off, kissing her forehead and afterwards smearing the blood you left behind away with your hand. “It's okay, Pirko. Whatever you did, I know you didn't want to. I _heard_. It's okay. Right now you need to go.”

Loki put a hand on your shoulder, moving closer to you while remaining highly observant of the battle. “The easiest way for her to escape is through a tunnel hidden behind the thrones,” he said, but you didn't think that was the easiest way at all. “You should go…” He swallowed his words, knowing that you would never listen to his suggestion. 

“Can you teleport still?” You asked him, hands shaking so badly that you were struggling to slip Pirko’s hands from the chains. 

“Maybe once,” he answered wearily, gasping at the pain in his back when he stood. 

You closed your eyes and sighed, pushing Pirko gently towards Loki. “Then teleport her to somewhere safe.” Even Pirko looked like she wanted to argue against that, but you shook your head the moment she tried. “She is more important than _me_ , Loki,” you pressed, and Bjarke handed you a spare sword, sending Loki a pointed look while he was at it. “Asger and Bjarke are here.” And you knew how to fight with them. But Pirko...Pirko needed to leave for her own sake. She had a family waiting on her, and other children to protect. She was a leader, but she should not know as much sacrifice as she already did at her age. Now was not the time for her to learn more. “ _Go_ ,” you pressed again.

Loki tapped your cheek as he gave in to your plea, and the gesture was familiar enough that you stopped chewing on your lip automatically. “I’ll be back immediately,” he promised, and you turned away before you could see them begin to leave. 

You didn't want to look. You had a feeling today you were going to die, and you felt too guilty to let yourself look at your prince again. You didn't deserve it, truly. Looking back down at the sword in your hand, you passed it over to your left. Your right was useless, and your left was no better, but there were no other options to be had. Bjarke killed the first two warriors that approached, and you pressed your back against his when he nearly lost his balance. 

The third that approached was a previous comrade. Erling. He was one of Fiske’s more tolerable friends, but he still mocked you with the others. When he attacked he was more forceful, and when you raised your sword to block you screamed through the pain in your wrists, pushing your sword back against his until his blade slipped. You ducked away, twisting on your feet and slicing through the back of his neck. Before his eyes held nothing but fear, you thought you saw regret, as though he recognized the mistake he had made. But when he fell, you paid no attention to the words and gargles that came from him. Any bastard who could turn on their comrades at the thought of their life being spared didn't deserve to be listened to. 

By the third person down, your wrists were screaming again, and you barely had it in you to block another strike for Bjarke’s sake. The moment he could recover from the near attack, he leaned in to the man, giving you time to back away. The people you were killing were insignificant. They didn't matter. Killing them would not stop the war. Killing Fritjof _would_. Your eyes widened when an arrow struck against the floor below you, and when another came you threw yourself onto your back to avoid it. It clattered to the ground behind you, and as you struggled to stand more were fired in your direction. You scrambled back, hands trying to grasp the floor to aid in your escape. _Fuck_. You couldn't die like this, could you?

There was a clang, and a grunt, and Asger and Bjarke were both in front of you. The arrows pierced through Asger’s shield, and he tossed it to the ground. “Get up, Ove,” he told you, and you were nearly on your feet when someone’s arm wrapped around your neck.

You gagged, feet pushing against the ground erratically. When Asger turned to help you as Bjarke fought against oncoming arrows, you screamed. 

“Turn around!” You shouted, words gargled by blood and the restriction of airflow. “ _Turn around!_ ” You screamed again, twisting the sword in your hand and stabbing the man that held you. When his grip was gone, you screamed again, so loudly that Bjarke froze momentarily in his movements; just long enough to see what was before you. You choked, hands reaching out to grab your dearest friend as Fritjof’s sword slid from his neck. “Asger,” you called, stumbling back as Asger’s body was pushed against yours. 

Your feet slipped out from under you, Asger’s weight pressing you to the ground. 

“ _Asger_ ,” you said again, pulling your hands out from under him and pressing them against the hole in his neck. His body twitched in your arms, his mouth open as he tried for breath. Your own breath stuttered in between your cries for him to be okay, to be fine, to blink, and to look at you, and to smile and to call you an idiot. When the flow of blood from his neck didn't end, and his body went entirely limp, you pressed your forehead to his, not caring about the taste that ended up in your mouth. “Oh, Stars, Asger,” you whispered, hands clutching his shirt in a tight hug. “I'm sorry. Asger, I'm so _sorry_.”

A cry of anger and pain left Bjarke when he finally had a moment to comprehend what had happened, but it was shortly cut off as he was pulled away and pinned to the ground. “Don't kill him!” Fritjof barked, wiping Asger’s blood from his sword. “Not yet.” He shook his head, stepping over to you and ignoring Bjarke’s screaming. “Asger?”

You knew why he was asking, and you moved Asger’s head gently away from yours so that you could glare up at him. “Don't fucking try.” Reluctantly, you let go of Asger’s shirt, using much of your strength to slide out from underneath his body. “You won't have the chance to add his name,” you said, pressing your fingers to Asger’s eyelids and closing his eyes. 

“Look around,” Fritjof said, gesturing to the bodies of your comrades. Numbly, you followed his movements, breath hitching at how Bjarke was being held down and beaten. “Thor isn't even in the room anymore! I could sit atop that throne right now and order your execution, and every bastard who wants to keep their life would volunteer to do it for me.” He pointed to Asger. “Lest they want to end up like him.”

In a moment, your hands were wrapped around Fritjof’s shirt. You stepped forward, each time pushing him back. He didn't stop you, just watched with the type of wild curiosity that a fox holds when after its prey. “You will not get what you want,” you hissed, and you saw the reflection of gold in his eyes. There was still some left. There was still that spark of magic that was keeping you alive. Fritjof grabbed a knife from his pocket as you continued walking him back, and when he lifted his hand down to strike you with it, you didn't flinch. You just kept pushing him back. 

He wouldn't do it. If you weren't shying away from the blade, he didn't want to. He could elicit a scream from you when the blade entered your shoulder, or your neck, but that wasn't as satisfactory as having you grovel at his feet. His sick fantasy was to have you begging again, but you were over that. He killed your brother, he killed your best friend. You were _over_ being frightened by him. 

Besides, there was an unspoken plan.

“It is unfortunate you even made it this far,” Loki said from behind Fritjof, grabbing the barbarian by the neck and squeezing. With a free hand, Loki gestured to your ears, and you covered them with your hands, pressing so hard that you were sure to give yourself an instant headache. 

Even with you trying to block out as much of the noise as possible, Pirko’s screams were so deafening that you still felt the vibrations. Fritjof struggled in Loki’s arms, clenching his jaw in pain as he searched for where Pirko was hiding. She was entirely unseen to everyone, and for now, you were grateful that Loki didn't truly listen to your directions. Instead, he masked her presence the way he did when you were in his tent, and unless someone managed to touch Pirko, she'd remain like transparent glass.

Bjarke broke free of the warriors holding him down as Pirko concentrated her powers on Fritjof, and he grabbed hold of one of his arms. You pulled Fritjof’s legs out from under him, and Loki let him drop to the ground before he helped pin him. Holding one arm down as Bjarke held him down the rest of the way, Loki took his dagger from his coat and passed it along to you. You sat over top of Fritjof, closing your eyes as you listened to his restrained screams. Pirko’s voice surely rendered him deaf for good now. 

Loki and Bjarke watched patiently as you looked from the dagger in your hands and back to Fritjof. No one would interfere; not when you were so close to getting what you had wanted since your brother’s death. So you waited, and they waited, until Pirko was no longer able to scream, and the enemies around you were shaking on the ground with bleeding ears and struggling hearts. You reached out a hand to Fritjof’s face, grabbing him in the same places he had left bruises on your jaw with his own fingers. You couldn't use as much force as you longed to, but it was enough to make him look at you. It was enough to get him to read your lips.

“You killed my brother,” you told him, carefully annunciating each word. You wiped blood from your mouth, breathing in deeply through your nose. You wouldn’t cry again until he was dead. “You killed one of my best friends,” you continued, and you had to keep looking down at Fritjof in fear of seeing the pain on Bjarke’s face. 

You sat back, letting go of his face and holding your palm up. “Give me his arm,” you directed Loki, and your prince did so without hesitation. You looked back at Fritjof as your knife pressed against his skin. “You don't get to have his name on your skin. His life never belonged to you.” 

You waited until he opened his mouth to talk to cut Ove’s name from his skin, and you thought it would be more satisfying to hear his scream of pain. You would take his eye if only you had more time, and if you were as cruel as you were thought to be. You tried to flip the dagger in your hand and clench your fist around it tightly, but it would never strike through bone with how weak your wrists were. You wrapped your other hand around it, and whispered a quiet “please” to Bjarke and Loki. They both understood, each wrapping a hand around the hilt of the dagger. 

“This isn't me,” you told Fritjof, raising the dagger. Loki helped you position the blade over the right spot in his chest. Loki’s hand twitched with irritation when Fritjof cursed at you, and Bjarke dug his knees further into the monster’s arm. You didn't want to, but you closed your eyes as Loki and Bjarke helped drive the dagger through Fritjof’s chest, stabbing through bone and into his heart. Only when his twitching stopped did you open your eyes, Bjarke and Loki still holding your hands in theirs. They helped you pull the knife from his chest, and when you dropped it, neither let go still. 

You glanced back at Asger, bottom lip quivering as your eyes rested on the hole in his neck for too long. When you turned away, you stared at the skin removed from Fritjof’s body, and at the name that had brought you laughter, protection, and grief. 

“That was Ove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the chapters. We still have a few things to wrap up here before the story is over.
> 
> I hope this end was satisfactory (minus Asger)... I had a tough time writing it because of how attached I've become to the characters. 
> 
> Initially, in the very beginning of planning this end, it was meant to be Bjarke who died. But then I took his eye and felt a little bad about the whole thing.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! I can't believe this story is almost a year old. I never expected it to get this far, or to have as much attention as it has gotten. But I'll save the real sappy stuff for the very end.


	57. LVII

The funerals took place over two days. The first was for the civilians that died. The number of casualties reached over 150. 150 people were killed in a matter of minutes, and there was no discrimination between men, women, or children. It was a blind slaughter, and that made it even more sickening as the boats were set out to sea. You watched this funeral from a distance, sitting next to Bjarke on top of a hill. The two of you had no reason to be down with the masses; neither of you knew anyone who was killed. Halvor laid down behind you, letting you and Bjarke both lean up against his side. The horse got as much comfort out of it as you did, and that much was certain. His tail flicked the ground, and everytime your hands rubbed above his leg, he knickered to show his appreciation. 

You glanced over at Bjarke silently, looking at the hard lines on his face and his bloodshot eye. There had hardly been words exchanged between the two of you since Asger’s death. There wasn't even a moment of celebration for either of you after killing Fritjof. Both of you had simply stood up and moved over to Asger’s body, Loki helping you pick him up and move him elsewhere. You had vehemently denied putting his body with all of the others, but eventually Bjarke managed to assure you that Asger wouldn't want any special treatment. He'd want to be treated the same as everyone else, even if that meant being just put in a pile for later. After all, Asger would be traveling to Valhalla. The final destination was more important than the trip there.

When flames lit up the sky, you cast your gaze back over to the sea. Loki was surely watching from his spot beside his family, but you longed that he was with you. He probably needed a break from your hesterics, though. You have been nothing but a mess since the death of Asger. Never were you good at dealing with grief, even despite now having a larger support group around you. You were pretty dry of tears by now, and all of your energy has been used for healing. You couldn't heal on your own anymore; it seemed that Loki’s magic was completely stripped of you now, and so you were back to being covered in bandages and stitches. Eleven times now you had been told by someone that you should be dead. 

_It's incredibly unlikely for you to be here._

_If it weren't for Prince Loki you would surely be dead._

_I don't know how you were even able to walk in this condition, let alone fight._

_The bleeding should have killed you hours ago._

And so on. You were tired of hearing it, because it _felt_ like you should be dead, too. You felt like a walking corpse, though you couldn't complain. There were other things circulating around your head that were far more important than the pain you felt in your body. 

Finally, you spoke, “Thank you, Bjarke.” He looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion and urging you to elaborate. “I don't know. For everything. If it weren't for you and Asger, we may never have won this war.” You picked at the fabric of your pants.

“Yeah,” he muttered, giving a small nod. “I love you, you know,” he added, and your eyes glossed over instantaneously. “Asger loved you too.”

You gave him a weak, tired smile. “I love you guys as well.” Bjarke reached an arm around you and gave you a careful hug, and you laughed a little, knowing that if you weren't injured it would be the type of hug that would crush air out of your lungs.

 

Loki found appropriate reason to stand next to you during the second funeral, wanting to shoot an arrow for Asger as well. Even if Loki wasn't close with either Bjarke or Asger, Asger still helped keep you alive the entire war, and Loki knew just how much the man meant for you. To not participate would haunt him. 

You stood between him and Bjarke, rubbing the string of the bow between your index finger and thumb. You had specifically requested that your hands be left unwrapped for tonight, because you needed to shoot an arrow. A nurse said that Asger would understand if you didn't shoot one because of your condition, but you owed him more than what you gave while he was alive. As the boats were pushed out into the water, you dipped the head of your arrow into the oil, and then into the flames. Stepping back, you stood with your feet parallel to the boats, pulling the string back near your face. When the call was made, you released, holding your bow back down by your side and watching as the arrows flew. When the boats went up in flames, you dropped a knee, muttering a prayer for Asger’s safe travels to Valhalla. 

You bit your hand when your shoulders began to shake, not wanting your gasps of breath between tears to be heard by everyone around you. Loki rested a hand on your shoulder, placing his bow down and kneeling beside you. He ran his fingers through your hair, kissing the side of your head. “It's alright now,” he whispered to you, and he glanced up at Bjarke briefly to see that he too was showing just as much emotion. “But you should watch.”

You nodded, standing back up in time to watch the orbs and dust float into the sky. You tapped your foot on the ground and held onto Loki’s arm as the boats drifted towards the horizon and towards the waterfall, and you sucked in a sharp breath when the boats dropped. When the sky was clear of lights, and nothing but stars remained, the thick of the crowd began to leave to go back to their homes. Around you, men and women alike hid their faces in their hands or in the shoulders of their loved ones. Wordlessly, you dropped Loki’s arm and sat at the edge of the land, resting your chin on your knee as you continued to stare out at the water. 

Knowing that you were certain not to leave for quite a while, Loki and Bjarke sat on both sides of you. Loki’s hand rested on top of your own, and you looked down at your hands. “How long would you say it takes to get to Valhalla?”

Loki blinked at the question, turning your hand in his and entwining your fingers. “I've never heard of a specific amount of time,” he answered honestly. “But I imagine Asger is well on his way there.”

“And there's no reason for him to not be in Valhalla. He died protecting the palace,” Bjarke added, pushing your forehead back teasingly. You appreciated the way he tried to keep you smiling even through your tears. “You can't worry about Asger so much now. He’ll have the time of his life drinking and fighting all of the time.”

“I know,” you said quietly, and you _did_ , but you still wished there was a way to truly be sure about it all. “I'll just miss him.” You paused, looking at the two of them. “You guys can leave, you know. I can find my way back to my room.” Odin still hadn’t decided on a punishment for you yet. Now it was certain that you wouldn't be executed, because you saved so many, but it was still a possibility that you would be thrown in a cell. Because of that, you were to stay in the room you had been in all along, but restrictions were a little less. 

“You’re injured,” Loki and Bjarke both responded, and you frowned, immediately giving up and leaning back against Loki. If they both decided on it as unanimously as that, you didn't have a shot of them leaving. 

Somewhere along the line, your eyes felt so heavy from staring out at the horizon that you fell asleep against Loki. Both men gave you twenty minutes more to rest, hardly speaking amongst themselves as they sat. Neither knew what to say, or quite how to interact with each other without you guiding the way, and so they just shared the comfort of knowing that you were finally getting some well-deserved rest. After the twenty minutes passed, Loki carefully picked you up in his arms and walked you back to your room. You didn't move much during the walk, except once to turn your body closer to his chest and hide your face in his arm. 

It was only when he laid you back down on the bed did you wake, and that was because he needed to change your bandages. The process was much longer than normal, because even old injuries had reopened if your body had played a role in healing them without help from others. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes and incoherently muttering about wishing to go back to sleep. But Loki just smiled at you and kissed your forehead before bringing back over the bandages. As he grabbed all that he needed, you pulled your shirt over your head, no longer shy about Loki seeing the bruises, blood, and scars that covered your torso. He had long since proven that none of it bothered him at all. You were alive, and he found you beautiful no matter the state of your body. 

“How long do you think it will be before we can stop going through this process?” You asked, helping unravel the bandages around your torso. You didn't want to complain, so you helped him along to distract yourself. 

“Perhaps two weeks,” Loki answered, and you frowned. Two weeks was much longer than what you wished. 

Loki’s fingers ghosted over your injuries, but his magic didn't touch you. The knife that Fritjof had stabbed him with not only was heated, but it was also coated in a layer of poison. Loki was strong enough to fight it off and heal himself, but his powers were now temporarily gone. He could only do the small things, like occasionally conjure up a fruit for you to eat or use telepathy. Things like teleportation and healing were currently impossible, which was why you were spending much of your time with other magic users. 

The magic in you was entirely gone now as well, or as far as anyone could tell. You were no longer hearing the voices of others, and you could no longer speak back to Loki without the regular use of your voice. Your body was back to healing at a slower rate, reminding you only of when you had to explain to Loki that you were incapable of healing like a normal Asgardian. You felt sickly in a million different ways, but even so, you were confident that the feeling would not last for forever. You always had a way to turn grief and pain into something remarkably stronger. 

Your prince helped you pull your shirt back over your head, and then he carefully bandaged your hands again. “It must feel as though you are taking care of an old woman,” you remarked, noting the way you cringed with any sudden movements.

Loki laughed, shaking his head and moving to sit beside you in the bed. “No,” he replied, “it feels entirely as though I am taking care of an incredibly brave and strong warrior who would sooner stab me than let me refer to her as an old woman.”

His smile matched your own as soon as he saw the corners of your eyes crinkle. “I wouldn't stab you,” you corrected him, and he rolled his eyes. “I would more likely just kick you.” When he went to lie down, you grabbed his wrist, slowly pulling him back up. After giving him a quick kiss, you pulled out the best puppy dog eyes you could. “Can we sleep outside tonight?” You asked. “My bandages are all fixed and stuff, so it shouldn't be a problem.”

“The roof?” Loki asked with a raised brow, and you nodded sheepishly. “That's alright with me,” he said, and he folded a blanket and pillow up in his arms. On his way out, he also tucked your brother's letter under his arm. He had been carrying it around with him since Fritjof’s death, in case at any point you chose to open it. You stood and followed him out of the room, no longer having to worry about a guard trying to keep track of you. The majority of the palace staff were slacking when it came to their job of watching you, because they knew all that you had gone through, and all that you had done to try and help them. None of what happened with Fritjof was your fault, after all, and none of them would blame you for it the way Odin perhaps could. 

When the two of you reached the roof, Loki laid the blanket and pillow down for you both, and you waited for him to find a comfortable position before laying down next to him. Loki turned onto his side and wrapped an arm around your waist, his forehead against your shoulder. “Is this foolish?” You asked him quietly, staring up at the stars.

“No,” he answered shortly, shaking his head. “You just want to feel close to them, and the stars are the best way to do that.”

You turned and kissed his head. You would never be able to express with words just how much his understanding of you meant. Even if you felt childish for your request, he understood how much you longed to just be able to feel Asger’s presence around you. Even if he was gone, you could still feel his energy in the stars, and if you focused enough, even his booming laughter would seemingly reach your ears again. You could feel Ove this way, too.

“Can I read?” You asked him suddenly, and he quickly sat up.

“You sure?”

You nodded, reaching out for the letter he had taken from his pocket. “He would want me to now,” you said. That was a lie. Ove would have wanted you to read it a long time ago, but now you were at least ready to. You had kept your promise. Carefully, you ripped into the envelope, the paper easily coming apart due to how worn it was. Your hands shook as you unfolded it, so much that you had to sheepishly request Loki to hold it still for you as you read.

_Sister,_

_Happy Namesday! I hope you like the gift that I picked out for you. I tried to get Mother to let you have a knife this year, since you always steal mine, but she thought it wasn't fitting for you, because you’re “too young”. While I would personally argue against that, considering you kicked Bjorn between the legs just yesterday for calling me a weasel, you know Mother. Between you and me, there's a knife under the floorboard in the corner of our room. If you even_ think _of telling Mother about this, you’re dead and that knife is mine._

_Anyway. Every other boy complains about having a sister because they’re annoying, and you_ are, _but there's also no one else who is idiotic enough to have my back. I'm lucky you’re here._

_I love you._

_From the best brother there is,  
Ove._

You wiped your eyes, carefully taking the letter back from Loki and folding it back up. It was as simple as you expected it to be, and yet it was everything you needed to read. You had never heard parting words from your brother, as he had never had the opportunity to speak in his death, and so even a letter as mundane as that meant the world to you. 

“He would be proud of you,” Loki told you, having read the letter while you were. “And likely amused that you still kick bastards in the same way that you kicked Bjorn.”

“He was a dick,” you responded, nose wrinkling in disgust. You yawned, tucking the envelope under your arm as you laid back down. “I think Ove would have liked you,” you said, turning your head to look at him and smiling when he kissed you. 

“It is more likely that he would have scorned me the way Bjarke does.”

You laughed, the image of Bjarke’s scowl appearing in your mind easily. “Bjarke likes you.” Loki made a face beside you. “Bjarke doesn't _dislike_ you,” you corrected. “But he would probably still attempt to skin you if you ever hurt me.”

Again, Loki rolled his eyes at the threat, resting his forehead back against your shoulder and closing his eyes. “You don't need anyone else to skin me if I were to hurt you, Love. You’re plenty capable of doing so yourself.”

“But that's why you love me.”

“Amongst a long list of other things, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, and then we part ways with this story. I'll probably post something sappy afterwards as a thank you, though.


	58. END

“My final decision is that you will no longer be punished for your treason. You will serve no sentence, nor be executed.” Odin cleared his throat as Frigga watched him expectantly. “Asgard owes you a great apology...as do I. If it were not for you, we may have lost many more lives due to Fritjof’s slaughter.”

The roar of the crowd took minutes to calm down, and you nervously grinned, certainly not used to all of the positive attention. 

“Thank you,” Frigga added, smiling down at you. 

“And thank you,” you spoke, not ashamed to direct it mainly towards Frigga, who has shown you nothing but kindness since your arrival at the palace.

“The rest of what we have to speak about will have to be done in private.”

Your brows furrowed at that, but Loki took that as his opportunity to leave his seat and offer you his arm. “My Goddess,” he said, and you took his arm, the confusion still not leaving your face.

As he walked you towards the exit, you whispered, “Loki, what are you planning? Why walk me out in such a show-offish manner?” He gave you one of his irritating smiles that said all that you expected. He wouldn't tell you, of course. Loki loved his surprises as much as he loved tricks and being praised. “I swear to Hel, Loki, I just want to know what Odin wants to talk to me about.”

“It's not a bad thing,” Loki reassured you, ushering you gently out the door and down the hallway. He was on a mission, and you didn't like it. You narrowed your eyes as he kept pushing you down the hallway, and soon you whipped around to shove your fist into his chest. 

“ _Loki_.” The way he laughed made your lips twitch, because in all honesty it was difficult to be angry at him when he looked so gleeful. “If it's not a bad thing, then why are you pushing me down this hall?”

Loki pointed further down the hall, and his grinning didn't end even when you kicked his shin. “My room is this way.”

You gawked at him, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Feeling celebratory?” You crossed your arms in front of your chest, tilting your head as you waited for his answer. 

He cleared his throat, and in one of his hands a white flag appeared. He only had a chance to wave it once before you took it from him and tossed it to the floor. “Clearly, _you_ are not,” he remarked, but he relaxed himself when he saw you were biting your lip again. In a moment, he picked you up off of your feet, and before you began protesting, he pressed multiple kisses to your cheek. “I'm sorry, Love,” he apologized. “I promise you there is truly nothing for you to be worried about, and I will stop being cheeky if it is making you anxious.”

You pushed your hand in between his face and yours, and he still kissed your hand as an extra apology. “I'm just on edge,” you said quietly, and Loki nodded in understanding as he began walking down the hall again. He knew you were on edge. _Everyone_ knew you were on edge. The halls of the palace were full of warm welcomes now, but you still saw the servants and civilians that died in them. There wasn't a trace of blood on the floors, but that wouldn't stop you from blaming yourself. 

“That's okay,” Loki whispered, kissing the top of your head when you finally let yourself lean up against him. “But I still think you will like this news.” Turning around, he used his elbow to push down the handle to his door and back into the room. 

Carefully, he set you back down on your feet, and you scrunched up your nose as you looked around at his room. “It's your room,” you muttered, shrugging your shoulders. It's not as though there was anything different about it. 

When you looked back over to Loki, he was frowning slightly. “It's different,” he urged, and he leaned himself back against the wall, silently telling you that he wouldn't move until you figured it out yourself. You huffed, moving further into the room and peeking around corners of furniture to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. “There's nothing on the floor,” Loki hinted, and after that it didn't take very long for you to find what was different.

Sitting on top of the bed was your wolf plush, and you picked it up to make sure it was actually yours. Sure enough, it was, and that only made you more confused. “Explain?” You asked, putting the wolf back down. 

“You’re no longer under room arrest, and,” he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristically nervous manner. “you are entirely welcome to stay in the palace, if that is what you wish. Your parents, too, can stay. Thor picked out a hall that he thought they would quite like, and here your father would be able to have plenty of medical attention.” 

That finally brought a small smile to your face, but there was still something Loki wouldn't say, or perhaps was worried about saying. You waltzed back towards him, flashing him a knowing grin as you curled your finger underneath the fabric of his collar. “Then why is my wolf in this room?” You asked, no longer nervous now that you knew what it was that Odin needed to speak to you about. It only involved the topic of Loki, and you were confident you could address that. “Loki, the Silvertongue, again at a loss of words because of a mere—” You laughed when he swept you back off of your feet.

“Goddess of Pride, beautiful woman, strong and angry warrior, witty and irksome companion. Shall I go on and list more of your many titles?” He kissed your neck, completely enamoured and grinning because of your laughter. “I thought you would like to stay here with me. Permanently. This could be both my room and yours, if you please.”

_Of course_. Was that something that had to be said? “Well, since you already put through the effort to bring my wolf toy here, I suppose I'd have to say yes.”

He exhaled loudly, setting you down on the bed and opening the closet door. Your eyes widened at what you saw. “Good, because otherwise it would have been an awful lot of effort to bring all of this back to the other room.”

You stood up quickly, taking the numerous fabrics into your hands. “I don't own this much clothing,” you said, and that served as your question. You pushed through the hangers, silently noting the larger amount of pants there were in comparison to the dresses. Some were plain, and others were beautifully stitched and embroidered in the same way as Loki’s clothing was. However in all of the garments was a trace of gold or green, easily giving away that these were pieces that Loki had specifically made for you. 

“But if you live here, you’ll certainly need more than hand me downs from Sif,” Loki remarked, and you puffed up your cheeks as you tried not to let your emotions get the better of you. 

“Is this why you were nervous of me saying no, Loki?” He gave a weary nod. “Then perhaps you shouldn't have had so much clothing customized for me.” You couldn't hold yourself still long enough for the joke to actually stand, and you quickly kissed him twice. “I love it,” you clarified, pulling out a pair of pants that had a lovely gold trim. “And finally everything will fit, but you certainly didn't need to have the seamstresses make so much for me.”

Loki waved his hand in the air dismissively. “You will ruin them, I know,” he said, and you frowned. Even if that was what you were going to say, you still didn't like how easily and quickly he knew your reasoning. “But we can have new ones made once you do.”

“I don't need them,” you decided, but Loki pulled out a gold dress and didn't let you leave the closet until you had at least looked at it for longer than five seconds. “That's...pretty,” you said quietly, reaching out to run your fingers over the snakes that were beaded to serve as a collar. It was modest, as well, and when he turned it around he looked extra proud of himself, because your back would be completely covered. No one would have to see the mark that you hated so much. “Do I have to put it on _now_?”

Why else would he be holding it out to you with such a cheeky grin? “I think it would make quite the impression on everyone at dinner,” he said, but then moved to put the dress back. “But there is also a blouse with similar beadwork that I had made, in case you don't feel like wearing a dress.” He pulled that out instead, looking equally excited for you to wear that. 

Your face went hot. Nothing ever went over Loki’s head. Every insecurity of yours he noted and tried to avoid. “I’m okay with wearing the dress.” You grabbed its hanger and pulled it back out, stepping out of the closet before he could begin to assure you that you didn't have to wear the dress just because it was the first thing he chose. He gave you options so that you could make use of both of them. “I like it,” you said firmly, holding it tightly in your hands when he gave you a look of uncertainty. 

Rather than again mention the blouse, he nodded. “May I help you, instead of the maid?” 

“I doubt you would like it very much if I said no.” You much preferred him to help anyway. You were more at ease with him seeing the remainder of your wounds than anyone else. And while the maid knew what not to mention to you, and she was entirely sweet, you still could feel her eyes wander to the scars and lacerations left behind by Fritjof, and you didn't enjoy the pity that would come from that. Loki didn't have to sympathize with you because he could empathize instead. 

When you were finished changing, Loki offered to help with your hair. It wasn't surprising, because you knew he was talented at braiding with the way he braided the lock of his hair into your own, but you were still weary of why he was so eager to do your hair. Even so, you sat in front of him on the bed, closing your eyes as he braided your hair. “What is all of this for?” You asked finally, and he stopped momentarily. 

“Dinner,” he answered.

You glanced back at him, not believing him for one second. “Then why do you seem nervous?”

Loki sighed, laying his head down onto your shoulder. “You see right through me constantly, don't you.” It was most certainly not a question, but you still nodded in response. “You just make me nervous all of the time.”

“Your lies don't work on me the way they do on other people, Loki.” But he truly wasn't going to elaborate on why he was nervous, and so instead you would also have to sit with it. When he was finished with your hair, he stood up, once again offering you his arm. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, and you hid your gaze from his when you saw traces of tears in his eyes. 

“And you look ridiculous,” you murmured softly, taking his arm anyway and letting him walk you down to the smaller dining hall used for just the family and a few guests.

As soon as you entered the room, your nose crinkled up in confusion. You thought it was meant to be a dinner with just the family, like the last awkward encounter you had, but your mother was sitting at the table, as was Bjarke, Asta, and even Pirko. Pirko looked a little worse for wear, although much better than a few days previous to this. You narrowed your eyes at the extra company as you sat down, but your awareness of the situation at hand didn't grow. You cleared your throat, because it seemed no one else knew what to say. “I, um, I wasn't expecting this,” you admitted, glancing over at Loki as he sat down.

Frigga leaned forward, gesturing for a servant to fill your glass with wine. “Initially it would have been just us, but I thought you would enjoy your time more if you were with close friends, as well,” she explained, and you tucked your chin as you stared down at your silverware. Frigga’s kindness wasn't surprising, but Odin’s was. 

“You said there was more you needed to discuss with me, Allfather?” Now was as private as it was probably going to get, and you didn't want to delay the sating of your curiosity any further. 

“Yes, I…” Frigga was looking at Odin with a fierce look on her face, and it made him falter, as though what he first wanted to say may not have been what she wanted. “I would like to personally apologize for my treatment of you in the beginning. Your treason and initial attitude gave me reason to believe you were nothing more than a brat.” Odin coughed into his hand, and you suspected that Frigga kicked him from under the table to cause that reaction. “But you are not entirely just some foolish girl who is willing to break my laws. It does not seem that you care much for a title or for honor, but it _is_ apparent that you care for the people of Asgard, and for my son. For killing Fritjof when others were unable to, even if it meant great suffering for you, I thank you.”

Bjarke was just beginning to obnoxiously cheer when Asta elbowed him in the side. You laughed, watching as he raised his glass towards you and drank his wine in one large gulp. 

“Pirko and Bjarke deserve as much of a thanks as me,” you said instead of thanking the Allfather for his courtesy. “Same with your sons.” You paused, rolling the handle of the fork between your fingers. “In the beginning of this war I told myself I could not befriend anyone, because that was a weakness I didn't want to have again. And it was a weakness, because the pain my friends went through was in part due to me, but I did not kill Fritjof on my own. My brother guided me, Pirko stunned him, and Bjarke and Loki helped me drive my knife into him.”

You weren't a hero. You never wanted to be a hero. That much you wanted to make clear. No matter the people who would thank you, you were just yourself, and you were finally comfortable that way. Killing Fritjof was like coming up for air after getting your foot caught below the water. You could breathe again, but it would still take a while for your heart rate to calm down. 

“Even so,” Frigga began, smiling softly when Loki tapped your cheek, “we would love for you to stay in the palace as a welcomed guest, though I am sure Loki has already invited you to that.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at the two of you, and you felt your stomach stir anxiously. “Perhaps in some time you could be known by more than Loki as the Goddess of Pride,” she suggested, a small laugh escaping her when she saw how wide your eyes went.

“Well–I don't–I'm really not sure that—” You cut yourself off, nervously shoving a piece of meat in your mouth so that you wouldn't ramble on any longer. On the other end of the table, your friends and mother were sharing laughter over your unfortunate slip of the tongue. 

What Frigga was implying was a marriage, and you turned your head to find Loki nervously fiddling with something in his lap. While all Asgardians could be considered gods, only the royal family and people of a higher standing would be addressed as such by even other Asgardians. The first time Loki had called you his Goddess of Pride, you had accepted it as a jest; certainly not as a promise of what you could eventually be called. And even when he had mentioned that there would come a day where people _would_ know you as such, it never felt real to you. It was never as real as it felt now.

“I'm lost,” you blurted, embarrassed and worried because you didn't think your heart could beat any faster. 

Noting how nervous you were, Loki showed you the thin gold ring he held in his hand. When that seemed to make you even more jumpy, because your mouth fell open again and you went to say something more, he laughed. “It's just a promise,” he told you, and you shut your mouth, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he slipped the ring onto your finger. “Not for now, but for the future, for if and when you feel as though you’d like me to spend the rest of my life beside you, and you would like to do the same beside me.”

“Do you really—?” You shut up and instead wrapped your arms around his neck in a tight hug, breathing in deeply through your nose so that you wouldn't cry. The question was unnecessary, and you knew that. Loki had taught you too much about your self-doubt that it was silly to even think of asking anymore questions about whether he truly meant it, or whether you could truly one day be a member of the royal family. You smiled at Loki’s laughter and the way he wrapped his arms back around you, and when you opened your eyes, Bjarke snuck in a proud grin that made you bashful all over again. 

“I’m assuming we’re in agreement then?” Loki asked, and you pulled away from him and nodded.

“You’re an idiot,” you laughed, grinning as he kissed you on the cheek. “We’re an unmatched pair, aren't we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late both due to personal reasons, and because ending things is hard.
> 
> I hope this end is satisfying to you all, even if it is rather open ended. I think that Loki and the reader are both established to be characters who may rush into things, but certainly don't rush into relationships. 
> 
> It didn't make sense for them to be married at the end of this fic, even if there was a time skip, because I feel as though they still have a lot to explore about each other. 
> 
> The next "chapter" isn't a chapter, but rather a big thank you of sorts to you all.


	59. THANK YOU

I first posted a chapter of this fic in July of last year, after a random burst of inspiration. It was meant for me and my friends, but after writing the first seven chapters, I wanted to try sharing it on here.

I've stated this before, but I had not written in years before this. Essays, yes, but never stories that brought out my creativity. So when posting this I had never imagined for it to receive the attention that it did. 

Thank you to everyone who made this a really amazing experience, whether you made fanart, commented, gave kudos, or became a new friend of mine. You all encouraged me to write, and I've finally found passion for it again. And thank you as well to those of you that have mentioned that this fic helped you find the inspiration to write again. That means more to me than you probably know.

Even if it's been stated 5000 times now, thank you for reading. It feels silly and yet right for me to include this little note here, but I hope you guys know that this fic would not have lasted if it weren't for your support. 

PS: I'm hooked now. You'll be seeing more fics from me in the future, but maybe not with Loki for a while. The next one I'm working on is a Red Hood/Reader fic, so sorry to all of you Marvel fans. ;)

Also feel free to request anything related to this story below. I'll probably feel sentimental at some point and want to do little one shots if you guys have a certain prompt you would like to read.


	60. Leave Recommendations

Hey everyone!!

Long time no see. To be entirely honest I've been trying to write two other fics (another Loki one and then a Red Hood one) but I'm struggling with them both. 

I figured to get myself writing again, I could always write some one-shot type chapters for Hubris. I know a lot of you have had ideas for little things or moments, and so if you wanted you could leave a comment below with it. 

Your recommendation can be anything you feel was unanswered at the end, or just something extra. You could even leave an AU in the comments just for the hell of it. 

If I like it, I'll probably get around to writing it. ;)

Thank you, and again I'm always so happy to read all of your comments!


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